I’m quite certain that every parent has at some point had dealings with a child whose behaviour is utterly out of order. I’m equally certain that every parent has at some time or other felt clobbered by their beloved offspring.
I can’t remember a day since Eldest was 10 months old, that one or other of the three of them hasn’t at some point left me feeling clobbered. I often talk about my patched up heart (this old post sums things up!) but I particularly hate the cuts and bruises that my heart suffers at the hands of my Offspring.
And so, the other day, a Facebook post made me think of a hands on way to try and make a point…
Sweet Girl and I went to the shops this afternoon before Little Man came home from school. We stopped at the charity shop and chose two beautiful china plates – one that Sweet Girl would love, one that Little Man would desire. On the way home we popped into another shop to purchase some glue.
Oh, did those children love those plates!!! “Can we have our dinner using them, Mummy?”, cried Little Man.
They reluctantly followed my instructions, and wrapped the plates in paper, then slipped them into plastic bags…
I brought out the hammer.
And unwillingly, unhappily, they smashed their plates.
Oh yes, I’m that mean.
Little Man was in tears at the sight of the pieces, Sweet Girl was holding back. They both felt really sorry for the loss of their plates. We used that “sorry” word a lot.
And I got the glue, and we started to put those pieces back together.
It was tricky – I am not a china plate restorer, and my glue was sufficient for the purposes of the lesson, but not of the “super” variety.
The plates are “whole” once again, but not the same as they were before.
“Sorry” puts pieces back. Time allows the glue to set.
But once you smash something, it will never be the same again…
I don’t especially aspire to “normal”… never have. I like quirky, I like unique, I like being different and those who are different.
I also take the meaning of the word “normal” as it should be – “usual, typical, expected”. When talking to others, I often refer to those growth charts mothers will be all too familiar with from baby days – those curves within which our infants sit and progress, and to which we cling, hoping our babies do not “fall off” them, as medical professionals imply that such a fall would be dire.
My Little Man sits firmly about an inch lower than the lowest of these curves: clearly, unequivocably, unjudgmentally out of the normal. It follows, therefore, that his growth is not normal. My goodness, how people react when I utter those words – as though I had spoken some unimaginably dreadful thing. But it is simple – the “norm” describes the vast majority of the population – 99% roughly. If you are outside that margin in whatever is being described, then you are by simple definition not normal. (As a little aside, I’ve rarely seen any particular advantage in being “normal”….)
Similarly, I think I have a fairly balanced perspective on “normal” behaviour in children. My personal experience was probably on the “good” side, but I had the joy of babysitting some “challenging” children, and in teaching I was familiar with a wide range of adolescent attitudes and behaviours, and privy to their parents’ challenges.
I’m an analyst and I have a tendency to judge my choices, behaviours and thoughts very harshly. In dealing with my lovely children, I have fairly high expectations of them in terms of manners and behaviour, but their various difficulties and our quirky experience of family life have taught me that allowances sometimes have to be made; that children need to rebel; that times change and expectations sometimes have to change with them….. etc, etc, etc… I know deep within my core that to expect anything close to perfection is simply unrealistic.
I know that teenagers can be surly and rude.
I know that they can rebel.
I know that many teens spend their lives in their rooms in front of computer screens.
I know that they do not go to sleep till the small wee hours.
You all have to stop telling me these things when I am at my wits’ end trying to get my teenager back to school. You have to stop telling me that it is normal for a little boy to have a tantrum simply because you ask him to wear a coat. You have to stop telling me that it is normal for a preteen girl to huff and puff in exasperation when asked to take her clothes upstairs.
Why do you have to stop? After all, you’re quite right. Teen boys don’t want to go back to school. Ten year olds don’t want to wear coats when the sun is out. Pre teen girls are in their very essence huffy.
Well this is why:
Last week, we began preparing a young man for his return to school three days before needed. Plans were made that he agreed to, and on the day when he decided against those plans, gentle support was the only way to go. I cannot emphasise enough how few strategies we have. Direct confrontation is not an option – it leads to fear, anxiety, anger, aggression and violence. In fact, the only option we have is time, and gentle persuasion. And time. In the event, Darling Man had to take one and a half days off work, a carer was needed to look after the two Littles, and us two adults had to be intensely WITH Eldest until midnight, and then all day the following day to support him in his return. Since then, there have been many phone calls to and from and with massive support from school staff, he is slowly beginning to settle back into school. Term has been in full swing for ten days now, and he is still not in class full time. So next time you tell me it’s normal to struggle to get your teen to school, think again – how often do you experience this?
Little Man, who is constantly, continuously, heart breakingly exhausted, was due to have a friend to lunch. Said friend lives up our road. We walked out of the house, and I asked him to wear a jacket. In spite of the sunshine, it is still chilly and his health is such that a light jacket is simply the appropriate clothing. This simple request led to screaming, shouting, refusal in the middle of the road for ten minutes, after which I carried him back into the house. He began to hit me and kick, so Dad stepped in. More punching, kicking and throwing whatever was to hand… and all the time shouting “let go of me”….. we were not touching him but he seemed unable to process that. This state of play lasted for nearly an hour, during which we were able to steer him into his room. Screams eventually turned to sobs, and a good while later he emerged full of remorse, and completely worn out. So next time you tell me that little boys have tantrums, think again – how many of your ten year olds lose control so utterly over such a trivial matter? And how many of them are then unable to do anything but sit on the sofa for the remainder of the day?
I’m going to give you the pre teen girl. The difference with mine I suspect is the emotional intensity of her emotions, but mostly the emotional intensity of the aftermath. She comes to her senses more easily and quickly than the average teeny girl I think… But topples straight into Guilt, which then needs huge support to work past.
Parenting’s not easy, not for anyone. And I’ve no doubt that for parents of children who lie in the norm of childhood behaivour, some days can feel everlasting, and life can sometimes feel really hard.
But truly… until you’ve experienced the intensity of reaction and behaviour that our “special”, “out of the norm” children experience and force us parents to experience, you must stop telling me, us, that “all children do that, it’s normal”.