For parents, few things are worse than realizing that your children have taken over a situation that should be reserved for grown-ups. The little ones do it in ways subtle (sometimes we get a baby sitter so we can go out for some “us” time and spend the entire evening talking about our kids) and vulgar (the epic, classic supermarket meltdown).
In Life Pre-Kids, I knew that those two cliches would someday invade my life. I was profoundly surprised to realize, however, that those two examples are relative child’s play compared with the myriad ways children dream up to disrupt adult life.
My first recollection of parenthood as a tricky road to navigate comes from a couple of decades ago, when I was still living under my parents’ roof. My mother and I witnessed a couple informing their 3-year-old that the adults had plans to go out to dinner and a movie, leaving the child with a baby sitter.
The child did not like this plan.
A public discussion ensued, with the parents using the tools of adulthood — logic, promises of good things in the future, “if/then” statements — and the child responding with every tool of the id: tears of frustrated rage, fist slamming, yelling.
Does this sound familiar?
My mother said to me, “For future reference, you do not negotiate with a 3-year-old. Adults make the rules, not kids.”
Oftentimes, in the throes of colossal struggles with my almost-5-year-old over why he can’t bring a 6-foot stuffed snake to preschool, I laugh at the idea that I have enough control over the situation to refrain from negotiating with my kids.
One particularly sticky situation with little kids is when families gather for a weekend away and one couple’s children won’t go to sleep. Nothing sucks the oxygen out of an adults-only dinner like one weary father excusing himself to go lie with his child for 45 minutes to get the kid to sleep.
As challenging as that scenario can be — ever notice how when one member of a couple is absent, the vibe can radically shift? — it is far superior to the dreaded Option B: the child is allowed to stay at the grown-up table.
Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but after a 14-hour weekend day when my children are never out of my sight, when that bedroom door closes, I am D-O-N-E with my kids until the next morning. So when another parent lets his or her kid hang around what is supposed to be my adult time, well …
These are trivial challenges when compared with one of life’s most perilous activities: Public Parenting Under Duress. Whether as a direct participant or a victim of chance, you have witnessed thousands of these situations in your life.
What generally happens is that adults need to focus their attention for about six seconds: paying for a coffee or handing an insurance card to the hospital staffer. This window of inattention to children allows them to behave in a way that is unacceptable (throwing objects), distracting (insistent repetition of the word “Dad”), endangering (running into the street), or some combination thereof. This is parenting no man’s land, a place without good options.
Collapsing in a heap of surrendered futility is, sadly, not a possibility.
Being forced to deal with misbehaving children under the watchful gaze of passers-by is the stuff of nightmares. If you appease the child, observers point to you as an example of how kids have gone soft. Attempting to deal with the behavior in a swift, firm manner risks the tsk-tsking of strangers. Sometimes, the only play is to pick the child up in your arms, bury your face in his neck, and half scream/half sigh, hopeful that it will tickle the kid and make him laugh.
I recognize that I am focused on my current experiences, without much ability to look ahead. Many of you reading have traversed the relatively benign terrain of small children. For the most part, you seem to find my current situation quaint compared with what is ahead. Indeed, other parents of young kids confirm that we all hear the same overarching themes from parents with older children.
The first advice is to treasure this time when they are small. It goes by so fast.
I want someone to say this to me as my first-grader, dressed in shorts and sneakers on a February afternoon, steps into an icy, slushy puddle up to his ankles. Did you have plans? Not anymore! You’ve got a kid with frozen feet!
The second thing people say is, “Small children, small problems.” On one hand, I find this reassuring. True, it can make one crazy to look for a child’s missing mitten, but it is not a consequential matter in the long run.
On the other hand, the thought that parenting gets harder stops the blood in my veins. Intellectually, I know that sexuality, popularity contests, acne, and heartbreak are out there for my kids. But I am in no rush for them to invade my children’s lives.
The truth, of course, is that the interruptions, tantrums, whining, fighting and constant demand for parental attention — the things that remind us that “kids” is a four-letter word — are a small price to pay for the singular joys that offspring can bring into one’s life.
My oldest one hums when he is happy, and he hums a lot. His brother makes a clucking noise with his tongue and slaps the table each time he puts a piece of a puzzle in the right spot. They don’t know that I notice these things, nor do they understand that I consider these little habits to be miracles.
And I am reminded that love also has four letters, and everything feels good.
Mark Lilienthal lives in Norwich. He can be reached at mlilient@gmail.com.