For about 20 seconds today I thought that I agreed with John Rosemond. But then I kept reading.
John Rosemond, if you're unfamiliar with the name, is a psychologist who is perennially urging parents to do it his way. I first encountered his column when Alex was an indomitable toddler, and it worried me. What if I wasn't being harsh enough with Alex? What if Dr. Sears was wrong and Dr. Rosemond was right?
Eighteen years later I'm still giving John Rosemond side-eye. Today I was with him for about a paragraph, when he encouraged a mother to rely on her authority instead of threatening her 4-year-old. It turns out that he and I have very different ideas about how mothers can rely on their authority.
His first principle: Do not stoop down when talking to a child. That is a submissive posture that undermines a child's perception of a parent's authority.
Nope #1: I want my kids to know that their opinions and their troubles are important to me. Posture and facial expression can convey that more persuasively than any number of words from on high. On a purely practical note, everybody is more willing to listen when he or she feels listened to. One translation of Psalm 116:2 says that God bends down to listen to us. Perhaps Dr. Rosemond would advise him to be harsher as well.
He argues next that parents should keep talking to a minimum and decline to offer explanations. Explanations only open the door to arguments, he says. The proper answer to "Why?" and "Why not?" is "Because I said so."
Nope #2: I want my kids to respect me, not fear me. I want them to feel comfortable negotiating in unfair situations. I think a lot about what they need, and I have good reasons for my decisions. In Gretchen Rubin's Four Tendencies framework, there are a couple of Questioners in my family. "Because I said so" is the least useful thing a parent can possibly say to a Questioner. Is his goal to inspire resentment and rebellion? That strikes me as the most likely outcome.
If kids don't cooperate with parents' instructions, he says, parents shouldn't threaten. Instead they should do the job themselves (Nope #3) and then later announce that there's a consequence. And make it BIG! he says. (With the all-caps, and the exclamation point. As if he gets genuinely enthusiastic about hefty surprise punishments. Nope #4.)
Nope #3: If your kids aren't doing what you tell them to, I think it's often more helpful to do some problem-solving than to swoop in and do it yourself while plotting the oversized punishment that will follow. A 4yo, the topic of today's column, will often benefit from ample transition time -- maybe with a visual timer to say "This is how long you have to play with the Legos before they go into the bin." A 4yo may have a specific objection to one part of putting the Legos away, and will object to the whole process as a result. "Which structures are special to you? Let's find some shelf space for them first thing." A 4yo will often be open to a race or other contest: can you pick up a hundred double handfuls while I work on the dishes? Can you finish before I'm done in the kitchen? A 4yo is also a little young to pick up a really big mess on his own. What if you pick up all the yellow Legos and he races to see how many other colors he can pick up in that time? He might need a little guidance if things from multiple bins are jumbled together on the floor. He might need to have some of those toys rotated down to the basement for a while to avoid future unmanageable jumbles. He might need more practice than you expect with habit formation; new habits require a lot of parental bandwidth.
What he does not need (Nope #4) is to learn after the fact that you have imposed a sizable and arbitrary punishment without warning. The world is full of unpredictable ugly events; it's true. But if I impose a consequence I want it to be a teaching consequence -- and to teach something other than "you should listen to me because I will make bad things happen if you don't." If a kid is clearly slacking (or whining or sassing), I might do part of the pickup and then put those Legos on a high shelf for a while, to be earned back via cheerful cooperation with upcoming household tasks. "You're responsible for your own stuff, and for your own mouth," would be the message I wanted to send. Not "I will give away your Legos if you don't do what I say," but "Lego ownership is a privilege, and it comes with responsibilities." I might also require a slacker-offer to do one of my jobs-- maybe mopping the kitchen floor. This strategy can show a kid that small responsibilities are more manageable than big responsibilities, and that we all need to pitch in cheerfully to keep our household running smoothly.
After years of slogging I am on the far side of the little-kid struggles. And lately I have been feeling so lucky to have my particular kids -- they are such good kids. I think that it's easier to be good if someone close to you can see the good in you. Today my 12yo was bummed out after his soccer game. His bigger brother responded in such a kind and mature way, acknowledging the bad feelings and encouraging Pete to be proud of what he had done well. I am remembering all those years of painful sibling interactions, coaching them endlessly to be kinder while also contemplating a despairing defenestration, and realizing that it only seemed endless. That they really have been learning about love all along. That I don't have any regrets about being gentle with them.
Oh, gosh, I am past a thousand words already but I want to tell you about Stella today. One of my struggles with her has been figuring out how to manage her pickiness-- how much to push her, how much to accept that she has really strong food preferences. I'm sure John Rosemond would have ideas for me about how I could do it better. But slowly she's eating more foods more happily. She was so pleased with herself when we ate at a fancy tapas place earlier this month. "I think squid is delicious," she said loftily. Today I was surprised to see her nibbling at the remains of a pomegranate. "I didn't know you liked pomegranate," I said in surprise. "It's delicious," she said. It was almost gone, but she found a pocket of jewel-like arils tucked away in its depths. "Oh," she said, "it's a ruby mine!"
I watched her tuck in and I thought about Persephone, who did not know that the things she was taking in would bind her to the place where they were offered. I hope my kids are soaking up certainty: that they are loved, that there's room for disagreement in a family, that their needs matter. I hope those truths can weave a tether that will always tug them home. I hope they're learning that they should listen to me because they can trust me, and not just because I said so.
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