Consistency

I have determined that the single most important quality of a parent is consistency. It comes into play all the time. consistency tames the two-year old tantrum, controls the seven-year old outbursts, and it calms the teenagers angst.

That being said, consistency is probably the least utilized tool in the parental toolbox. Why? It is HARD! It is perhaps the hardest thing for a parent to do. How do you not give in when you are standing in the department store with your toddler shrieking like you are ripping her hair out? How do you not give in to your youngster when you see them weeping at the prospect of doing anything from homework to chores the 178th time that morning? How do you not turn a blind eye to your child breaking the rules just once, because you want to not have to fight with them all the time? 

Added to that consistency does not have an immediate reward.  Instead it is the accumulation of the little instances that ultimately gives you the reward.  It is not a matter of using your drive and gumption to do something right once - but instead, the repeated response is what works together to create the atmosphere of consistency.  Perhaps the hardest balance to find is the delicate space between consistency and grace...

Earlier this week I went shopping with my two-year old. I know, I know! "You're crazy!", you say? Yes. Yes I am, and their are hundreds of witnesses to prove it. Those are the exact words that were going through my head as I picked up my screaming offspring to drag her from the store, abandoning my Mother in a wheelchair to fend for herself. Now, I could have bought a Dora place mat to immediately quiet the screaming. I would have spent money on it - hated it - and ended up getting rid of it. Instead I risked all dignity and mental fortitude and chose to put said toddler under my arm, and drag her screaming from the store.

That is when I realized that more often than not consistency is both rewarding and useful. Right now the toddler in question is sleeping peacefully in her bed, totally unscathed by missing out on owning such a coveted possession as a Dora place mat. Furthermore I realized that in moments like those none of us are alone in the pursuit of raising our children to be responsible adults. I came to that conclusion as people started to catch my eye, and mouth the words "It'll be okay". Others touched my arm and assured me that it won't last forever. There were females, males, young and old, witnessing my child's meltdown, and almost ALL of them offering words of encouragement and support. It was as though the screams were morphing into the music played as people go to the podium to receive a gold medal. Although I typically have to rely on my own internal drive to stay consistent - with the encouragement of pure strangers the battle seemed a little easier.

Perhaps the most embarrassing aspect of this story is that this was not the first time I received the encouragement of passer-bys. In fact as I stand observing the timeout of my strong willed daughter, or continuing to shop despite the screaming of my 'little princess' while in the grocery store, I have been the recipient of many a stranger and well wisher. Several elderly folk, both male and female, have assured me that "this too shall pass", and "stay strong Mom. It will pay off." Through this I have realized one enormous truth. When you see a Mom struggling to maintain her sanity, perhaps we can take on the role of the 'village' that it takes to raise a child by encouraging the parent. Most are just trying to get through that moment with out giving in. With out your stepping up and saying "I see what you are trying to do, and you are doing the right thing" that parent might not see the fruits of being consistent until they are watching that child grown - and even then it may be too hard to see all those battle's as steps towards the person in front of you. In an effort to not interfere we have completely stepped away from each other. I propose that the job of being a parent was not made to be done in isolation.

I am not suggesting that we should start correcting people's technique. There are certainly many techniques that you just can't, and shouldn't support. What I do think - is that if you see a parent who is clearly trying to stay the course, to do what you can. Smile. Give words of support. Your encouragement might make the difference.

What Child is This?

There is a young child sitting in their school desk. They are looking at their feet. They never noticed that one shoe was scuffed more than the other. The child starts rubbing their foot on the floor to see what movement made it scuff. They decide that if they figure it out that they will even it out. Then they notice that their shoe is making a little bump-bump-bump sound when they rub it. The child is starts seeing if they can make different rhythms with their shoe.

Not certain why, the child glances up. The teacher is looking at them. The whole class is looking at them. "Well?" says the teacher. Well what, the child wonders? Looking around the child notices that some of the kids are laughing at them. Why does this always happen? Stupid shoe.

At recess the child wants to play basketball with the other kids. They look across the yard at the basketball hoop where kids are jostling over the ball. For a minute the child thinks they will go join everyone. The child's cheeks start to blush, apparently for no reason. They are remembering earlier that morning - when the whole class was laughing at them... Well it felt like the whole class anyway. The child plops them self back down on the ground. Why did they have to be playing with their shoe? That was so stupid. The teacher went on and on about how they need to pay attention, like they didn't know that. Then the teacher came over after the other kids started working to explain what the child was supposed to be doing. She was trying to be nice, but every time the child glanced up they saw their classmates glancing at them, and knew that they all thought the child was dumb. They felt dumb. Maybe they were dumb. The child started to think about how maybe they were dumb, and they just didn't know it. They decided that would be very embarrassing. The bell rings, startling them from their thoughts. The child starts towards the door, not sure what they figured out.

Sitting in class the child keeps thinking about what happened that morning. They are determined that they are going to pay attention this afternoon. They are not going to let anything distract them. Sitting in the desk, looking at the teacher, trying to concentrate on every word, the child starts to think that it is working. Suddenly the child hears tickety-tickety-tickety... "No!" The child thinks. "Don't look. You have to pay attention. You need to show people that you aren't stupid." The child continues to look at the teacher. In their mind though they have started to think about what could make that noise. Without looking they try to figure out where the sound is coming from. Slowly the teachers voice has faded into the background, like someone had turned the volume down. Actually the only thing the child hears with any clarity is the mysterious sound. They are now thinking about all the things that could make that noise, is it in the classroom or in the hall? The child's efforts to change the events of that morning are now in vain. All that effort wasted because of what the child determines must be a noisy fan in the ventilation system.

That afternoon the kids all get their report cards. Even though the kids aren't supposed to open them, most do. Not the child. They know what is there. You don't get A's when you can't spell answers properly - even if you tried. Even if you spelled things the way they sounded. You don't get B's when you don't finish your tests. Even if you were solving some mysteries. The child goes through the motions of getting ready to go home, but is spending almost all their energy trying to not cry. This was not a good day. No day is ever a good day. Every time the teacher calls their name to hurry them along, the child feels embarrassed all over again.

The child starts walking home with a friend. Well, the child thinks the other student is a friend, but on the long walk home the child starts to wonder if the other student just feels sorry for them. Maybe it is only the child who thinks that they are friends. By the time they part ways the child has decided it would be embarrassing if they thought they were friends, but really the other student was just trying to be nice because they felt sorry for them. The child decides that they better keep their distance tomorrow.

So what child is this? Whose story am I telling? When I look at my son, I'm not sure. This could describe any number of my days in school - details only shifting slightly for elementary, secondary school, or University. This is my story. Even today I will go through times of feeling insecure about my friendships because of a seemingly catastrophic social blunder.

Looking at my son, getting after him for not paying attention, looking at his homework, trying to help him finish work that he was supposed to finish in school, I remember these moments. Now I am going to be going to Parent/Teacher interviews, playing the role of my mother - advocating for him, trying to help him feel accepted, successful, not dumb. I see his tears over his C's and D's, and remember the pain and loneliness.

Somehow I need to show my son the patience that I never had for myself. I need to have the tolerance that I never had for myself. Even though I too have been distracted easily by seemingly invisible things, I have no wisdom for him. There are no answers. During Church I am distracted by the humming of the lights. By the cough of an elderly person in the back. I try to solve the mysteries of why the lights flicker, what caused the feedback on the sound system, I suddenly notice that I have been staring at someone while I was thinking about something else. I wonder who noticed. I wonder if anyone really likes me, or if they think that I am weird and feel sorry for me.

How does that person teach their son that they are wonderful, smart, loved. How can I show him that I think he is important when I can't pay attention when he is trying to tell me something. When I suddenly look at him, and realize that he is asking me something that I can't answer because I was thinking about something else?

All the tricks I found will sometimes cover it up. Nothing has fixed the problem for me. I hope he figures it out. I hope he isn't held back because he doesn't. My child isn't perfect because I'm not.