1 Mother 2 Another

A couple months ago Cora experienced some
“dire crisis” that sent her into a meltdown one fine
afternoon. She’d asked for a couple holiday cookies and
I’d said yes without checking our stash; a quick look into
the cookie jar revealed only one cookie left. One.


“But Maddie had two of these cookies yesterday! I want two
cookies!” Cora wailed, and burst into tears.


I stared at my daughter, a puddled mass of sobs on the floor, not
trying to manipulate me into magically finding a second cookie
– just unable to move past the fact that there was only one
cookie to be had.


Now, in the past, I would have handled the situation like this:

Tired from all my holiday busyness from
the rest of the day, and still needing to do one million and seven
things before the day ended, I’d look at Cora sobbing and
lose my patience. With lightening-fast calculations I’d come
up with the quickest way to get this thing over with. And then
I’d put my plan into action: “Ok, if one cookie
isn’t good enough, then you can just have zero
cookies,” I’d nonchalantly say, then take the cookie
jar, step over the shuddering child, and put the jar away.


Cora would quickly reverse her position, grovel, and get her cookie
back, seemingly satisfied. Or if not satisfied, at least
surface-level grateful. I’d have gotten through it,
subscribing to the Pop-the Zit style of parenting where I did what
was needed to get a quick explosion and move on.


Except that this would teach Cora that her feelings aren’t
valued and should be ignored. That she’s “wrong”
to be disappointed and will quickly incur Mommy’s wrath if
she expresses her feelings. As I looked at Cora, I heard a voice
say to me, “You need to love your child through this.
Don’t shove her through it on your own schedule.”


Love, don’t shove.


So I picked up my girlie and held her, and said, “I know,
honey. I know it’s disappointing that there’s not
another cookie to eat today.”


AND THEN I SHUT UP.


There was no “BUT” that followed, as in, “BUT
this is the way it is and you need to accept it, and quickly,
because I need to get back to making dinner, ok?”


And Cora sobbed a bit more, nodded her head and said, “Yeah,
it’s hard,” sighed, and got up and got the one cookie.


Since then I’ve been trying to remind myself of my
love-don’t-shove when the situation warrants, and while
it’s often hard, the results are worth it. My girls are
becoming more confident that I’m really listening to them
while at the same time are better able to process their emotions
and pull themselves back out.


Now, I know it’s not always about loving a kid through
something. Sometimes they’re throwing a hissy fit and need to
be disciplined, taken out of the situation they’re trying to
dominate. Sometimes kids can get stuck in an emotion and need your
help finding their way out of it. These are not the situations I
mean for this tool.


But sometimes, a kid just needs to be allowed to work through
something in a safe space, in their own way, in their own time. And
knowing you’re there and aware and listening goes a long way.


I’m thinking of this right now because Cora had another such
moment last night: she’d had a mild run-in with a friend at
recess that day, and when she hit a minor bump in her bedtime
routine she lost it, sobbing deeply and saying she “needs a
moment to myself”.


I could have threatened her, bullied her into finishing her bedtime
routine in a timely manner. But I looked past the painful delay in
bedtime (read: parental freedom) and really saw her: a
five-year-old who’s exhausted from over eighty days of
seven-hour work days. Constantly learning new stuff, navigating
emotional minefields as she learns how to be a friend, being
bombarded by new ideas and mean kids and . . . and . . . and. Cora
just needed a meltdown.


So I crawled into bed with her and loved her through it, and she
sobbed a bit, sighed and snuggled into me, and then asked to finish
her bedtime routine. And as we started to read books together, she
took my face in hers, smiled, and said, “I love you,
Mommy.”


Love, don’t shove.