A "Love and Logic" Moment

Yesterday we went to the park after the service at Grace Center and spent nearly three hours playing HARD. Judah managed to keep up with his sword at the playground, but he abandoned it for the sandbox, never to see it again. When we got to the van, he said, "My sword!" We looked all over for it, to no avail. He cried for awhile, and then he started asking questions, imagining a scenario between a child (who might have picked up his sword) and the child's mother.

He says, "What if a kid took my sword? What would his mom say?" (I make up what I think she would say, then . . .) "What would he say?" (answer) and "What would his mom say?" (answer). . . This goes on until I'm all out of ideas. Then he says, "Maybe she would say, 'Let's get out the map and look for Judah.'" At this point, I think to call a friend we ran into at the sandbox. He still happens to be at the park and graciously offers to check once more before taking off (in case the sword was taken back to the place it was found by the imaginary kid playing with it), but it was still missing.

Judah had a good cry about it. When we got home (after he took a short nap), he asked if our friend had called. I told him he did and that he didn't see it. Surprisingly, there was no second meltdown.

I told MH (Mr. Honey) that in the Love and Logic book I'm reading, they encourage parents to let the pain teach the lesson--instead of driving home with lesson with an explanation of what happened, the parents show empathy.

From Parenting with Love and Logic: Teaching Children Responsibility, "The Love-and-Logic Parent," page 96:

"You have probably noticed that love-and-logic parents react quite differently than other parents do when kids make mistakes. We don't get angry, we don't riddle them with I-told-you-so's, and we don't sit them down and lecture them about their errors.

"If we get angry, we strip the consequences of their power. We insert ourselves into the process and impede the logic of the consequences from doing their thing. The child's anger is directed toward us and not toward the lesson the consequences teach.

"Also, when we sit kids down and explain to them--even in the nicest terms--what they did wrong and why it didn't work out, we deflect their thinking from their own consequences to us. We only retard the power of the consequences when we do that.

"The thing that drives the lesson down into our children's hearts after they make a mistake is our empathy and sadness. We put the relationship between us and our children foremost in our minds. Our love for them reigns supreme. We have been building their self-concept from infancy, telling them they are loved, skillful, and capable. And a foul-up, regardless of how serious on their part, doesn't change anything. They must know that, and be told that message continually.

"So, when they make a mistake, we really ache for them--we know what it's like. And we tell them this in all seriousness. When our kids blow it, and suffer the consequences, it is crucial that we express our sadness to them."

The authors also talk about not rescuing your kid all the time, so in this case, not promising another sword or going straight to the mall for a replacement. We simply let Judah feel what it's like to lose something important to him, while empathizing and saying things like, "I'm sorry, darlin'. I know. I'm so sorry."

I think it's possible that he was content to believe that a child who didn't have as many toys as he does ended up with it since he has asked me earlier that day if he could give it to a little girl "to keep for the rest of her life." I asked him if he knew what that meant for him, and he said, "That I won't get to play with it never, ever again?"

I'm sure that when he wants to take another toy to the park, we'll talk about whether or not he's prepared to lose it forever, and the reality of losing his sword will be the deciding factor.

On another Love-and-Logic note, something happened today that gave me a glimpse into my future as I parent this thinker named Judah. I saw that he was about to take a toy away from Miriam, and I said sternly, "Don't." (I was already frustrated with him at this point--so much for Love-and-Logic parents not getting angry!) I told him that by taking toys away from Miriam, he was teaching her to take toys away from him. His response? "You're teaching me to say 'No' to Miriam." (Of course, further solidifying the idea I had earlier when I overheard him talking to Miriam about not putting sidewalk chalk in his drink. It went something like this: Miriam, never, ever do that again. Do you understand? Would you want me to put sidewalk chalk in your drink? Miriam? He was really going for it until I came out and asked if he was being kind.)

In case you're wondering, our conversation ended with me saying, "No, I think you have that down pretty well." He made an ugly face and started to get smart with me, so I said, "Do you want to be kind or do you want to be in your room by yourself?" He said, "I want to be in my room by myself." I said, "No problem," then I walked out with Miriam and shut the door, about 20 minutes later, he came downstairs, sat on a chair in the living room (I was vacuuming couscous from lunch--note to self: eat outside or make sure it's contained) and asked me, "Mommy, will you read a book to me?"

To end on an even sweeter note, I got an e-mail this morning from one of the volunteers in Judah's Sunday school class. She wrote:

Judah is precious!!!!!!

Yesterday we were playing and I was picking up toys and he said-- but we can't pick up the toys-- it's not time to go because we haven't had story time yet. I said, yeah buddy we had story time before you got here. He said-- but didn't you know I was coming????? :)

He's super super super sweet. and Very well behaved.

This did wonders for starting my day. It's also a wonderful way to end it. Good night!