Modeling What You Seek for Your Children

This week’s guest post is by Monica Cravotta, an Austin mama keen on discovering how to put both self-care and attachment parenting into practice. She’s the voice behind Attachmentmama.com and contributing writer for API Speaks.  Be sure to check out her site.

I have to remind myself daily how unbelievably powerful modeling is for my children. We’ve learned from Montessori schooling just how absorbent a child’s mind is from birth to around age 6. They possess limitless motivation to absorb knowledge quickly and effortlessly. As they literally take everything in from their environment, the world around them becomes what they know, what they do, how they express and how they define what’s “normal.”

It’s amazing to hear and see how I am mimicked and frequently receive a hard-to-accept, albeit necessary, mirror in my face of mannerisms that I’m modeling for my 3 year-old that I wish I wasn’t.

The latest example of this reflection is her repetitive, tersely stated, “STOP it!” that she says freely to me, her father, or her baby sister in response to any multitude of random things.

Or another recent eye-opener: “Mommy! I. Want. That. Cereal. Right. NOW!”

I need and seek new levels of patience every day and occasionally find myself cursing Alfie Kohn and his suggestion in Unconditional Parenting to simply give a toddler more time. He insists that just an additional five or ten minutes can be all that’s required. I know in my heart that he is so right on. 99% of my parenting frustration comes from wanting my 3 year-old to do something faster so we can be wherever we’re supposed to be on time, or move on to the next thing – finishing a meal, getting ready for bed, sleeping, etc.

My husband and I have both said so many times, “We just don’t have time for this.”

With the exception of school, we don’t really have to be anywhere or do anything five or ten minutes faster than my toddler feels up for.

And there’s an easy solution for getting rid of the get-to-school-on-time stress that we face DAILY that we simply must adopt. Immediately. I want to transform the morning “no, no, no” stresses to sweet family time together. We simply must set an alarm and get the whole family up and eating and having fun getting ready together a full hour before we have to leave for school.

All that to say, what’s happening is an ongoing experience from my 3 year-old’s point of view of witnessing me frustrated, saying things I feel awful about afterwards like, “If you don’t stop that right now I’m going to walk away and leave you by yourself.” UGH! This is the conditional love for children that Kohn describes so many of us falling into. I want to embody and express and model unconditional love for my girls!

Modeling is everything. And I would argue that unconscious modeling of parental behavior continues well beyond this sensitive early childhood period.

I think there are two ways we can inadvertently set up our children to not fully live a Blissful life of following their own precious, unique dreams.

One way is to fall into the conditional parenting mode in which you consistently reward behavior or accomplishments that you like and punish those you don’t, setting up a child to lose intrinsic motivation to make positive choices for herself, or to pursue a skill or craft or activity because he or she is drawn to it, versus doing it to please you. Check out Kohn’s New York Times article, “Parental Love with Strings Attached.”

The second way we can tragically set up our children to not follow their dreams is by not following our own. As long as we are alive, it is never too late to follow our bliss. And in doing so we give such an amazing, wonderful gift to our children of modeling what we hope for their lives.

Outside of parenting, which often feels like our most fulfilling, heart-expanding work – what do you love to do? Perhaps your personal interests have shifted since becoming a parent. If you could follow your own personal, precious, unique bliss today, what would it be? Are there ways to share it with your children?

Life is short. Anything is possible.

Three Year Well Check

“On the way to the doctor’s office today, Cavanaugh kept repeating, “I like to be sick.”

“You like music?” I would turn the CD on.

“No, I like to be sick.”

“You don’t like the music?” CD back off.

“No, I like to be sick.”

“You like to be sick?”

“Yes. I like to be sick.”

“What? Why?”

“I like to be sick.”

My ears are still really clogged from the sinus infection so I wasn’t sure I was hearing correctly, and I really needed to concentrate on driving rather than looking back over my shoulder to try to discern what he was saying. All we’d done differently since he’d announced, “I’m sick” last night before bed is give him a little medicine and skip our music class this morning. What could he possibly like about being sick?

Then we pulled into the parking lot at the doctor’s office and Cavanaugh said, “I’m better already.”

You’re better already? I thought you said you like to be sick.” Then I got it. “You don’t want to go see the doctor?” And here’s where I wish I could have done better because I usually do a pretty good job of hearing his feelings and not just saying, “You’re okay” but our doctor is great and we haven’t had any traumatic doctor visits where he was super upset, at least since he was a baby and didn’t like being stripped naked to get on the scale. He hasn’t had a shot for 21 months, though I had thought we might catch up on some today. What could possibly have happened to make him decide he doesn’t like the doctor?

Maybe he’d overheard me talking about the shots though I’m not sure he even remembers what they are.

The problem was we pulled into the lot at the exact minute we were supposed to be checking in inside. And talking through fears and feelings takes awhile. So, I was unstrapping him from his carseat and reminding him that he likes his funny doctor who has a Tigger on his stethoscope, then his dad reminded him that the doctor finds barking dogs in his ears and Cavanaugh started scaling my body because he hates dogs, so I said, “And he looks in your ear and finds kitty cats. What does a kitty say?”

By then we were entering the office and Mike was signing us in and Cavanaugh and I started looking at the wooden mural and finding chickens and farmhouses and trains, so he was distracted and perfectly happy to be sitting on the floor there. Normally, I would have taken this time to talk through the feelings, but again, I’m just not quite back up to par today so I spaced out looking at holiday cards families had sent into the doctor’s office simultaneously wondering who thinks of that and who gets these pictures taken.

The nurse’s assistant came and called us back and Cavanaugh didn’t want to stand up to be measured. I had to hug him while pushing his feet back towards the wall. He wouldn’t stand on the scale so I sat him on the baby one, which he was maybe so surprised by that he didn’t even wiggle.

Let’s just say I feel lucky that we have a pediatrician with the best bedside manner in the world. Our doctor took ten minutes warming Cavanaugh up and getting him to trust him so he could look in his ears after a long search for them: “Is that your ear? Where’s your ear?” pointing at toes and looking under Cavanaugh’s shirt. By the end Cavanaugh was giving him high fives and asking me to put the car sticker from the doctor onto his hand.

Probably needless to say, we gave him no shots today. And boy I still can’t decide what to do about chicken pox (which last week I was sure I wasn’t go to give him) and Hep A. We thought the window for MMR’s link to autism closed at three and I recently read four. In any case, I don’t want to give him any until we get over whatever fear of the doctor has come from I know not where.

Have your kids done this, been fine with the doctor and suddenly developed a huge aversion? I’m not sure where to even begin the conversation. Any ideas?

Photo by Gont

Let It Snow: Kid’s Arts and Crafts Projects

Do you live someplace where your kid may never see snow? At our house, we’ve started reading all of the winter/holiday books full of snow but my three-year-old has never seen those beautiful white flakes in person.

My winter childhood memories involve either being outside in the snow or being inside drinking hot chocolate because it was so cold outside. Cavanaugh knowing nothing of the stuff– except for what we’ve read in books– is freaking me out. This past week, Cavanaugh came running in to show me the playdoh snowmen and Christmas trees he and his part-time nanny had made. It inspired a lot of snow crafting at our house this week. Even if the projects hadn’t turned out so well, Cavanaugh and I have gotten to work together, giggle, create, and have a ton of sweet time together.

Paper snowflakes – Your child may be adept with scissors. Mine isn’t yet, so I made the folds and cuts, then he unfolded (with a little help). Fortunately, I couldn’t remember how to get a six-sided snowflake so I was trying to find directions on the web. Cavanaugh started playing with my box of shredded paper while he waited and that’s where our next two projects came from.

Paper snow showers – At first, he was dropping the shredded paper back into the box, but he started putting some on his legs, dropping it onto the floor. I found myself telling him to keep it over the box then asked myself one of my favorite parenting questions. Why not? Why not let the paper out? He was having fun. And how hard is it really to sweep up some paper? Soon enough I was showering the shredded paper over his head in a simulated snow shower. I suppose if I were really adept at cutting out teeny paper snowflakes, it would have been more aesthetically pleasing, but it kept us busy for almost an hour. By the end, Cavanaugh, his Hello Kitty slippers, and I were all covered in little bits of paper and were giggling hysterically (well, the slippers weren’t, but I think they had a good time anyway).

Paper snow angels – What do you do when your floor is covered in shredded paper? Make paper snow angels. I just spread the paper around so we’d have a big enough area, then had Cavanaugh lie down. I helped him flap his arms and scissor his legs to make the skirt. Our first attempt was a little sloppy, but the second one looked like this (after I cleared out a few paper stragglers).

Cotton ball snowman – We probably could have made a snowman with the shredded paper too, but I didn’t want to pull the stuff back out again today. Instead, we used a piece of cardstock and I made three circles with a gluestick. Cavanaugh stuck the cotton balls onto the glue. Then I gave him a small pile of metal confetti snowflakes (you could draw stars, cut out trees, or just leave off the background). He made a dot with the gluestick and then stuck the snowflakes on the paper while I cut out the mittens, hat, and rolled orange construction paper for the nose. Your toddler can be the designated gluer. Mine was also the hat inspector. I had to cut out about six before he approved. I tried a tissue paper scarf first, but didn’t like it as much as the feathers. I love our fancy little snowman. Can you tell whether Cavanaugh likes it?

Coloring snow – It’s also really easy to draw an outline of a snowman, or an angel, or glue a paper snowflake onto some construction paper then let your child just color on it with markers. You can cut the shape out after s/he’s done drawing and hang it as an ornament or holiday decoration. Cavanaugh had more fun doing this after he’d already made snow angels and snowmen himself, probably because he now actually understands (kind of) what snow is.

Do you have any other fake snow project ideas? Please let me know. And, if you try any of these, I’d love to hear how they go. Let it snow!!

The Bath Battle

How often does your child take a bath? Mine takes one about every two – three weeks. No, I did not mistype “weeks” for “days”. I mean it. He goes a loooong time without a bath. I wipe his bottom thoroughly many times a day. If he’s got sticky stuff on his face, dirt on his legs, or paint on his arms, he gets a sponge bath. So that really happens almost daily, so he’s not really dirty per se. I know I have to give him a bath when he starts to smell a little or when my chin starts breaking out from his hair rubbing against it as I carry him.

It used to be that we could give Cavanauagh a bath every day or three and he was happy to play with his ducks or boats then get his body soaped off, but if we were trying to wash his hair, he wanted out. I tried everything I could think of and anyone else’s suggestions to counter his fear of water in his eyes. I put a washcloth over his eyes. He didn’t like not being able to see. I gave him a washcloth to put over his own eyes. He wouldn’t hold it there so water would drip to his eyes. I tried getting him to tip his head back. but inevitably, he’d return to upright just in time for the water to drip down his forehead. Ugh! I recently read the suggestion that I should laminate a picture and tape it to the ceiling so he could see it as he washed his hair. I’ll probably do that because we need variety to counter resistance in this house. I even talked to Cavanaugh about how brave he’d been after he did let me wash and rinse his hair. For months afterward, as he was getting out of the bath, he would remind me that he had been brave. As I’d wrap him in his hoodie towel, I responded each time with, “Yes you were. You felt scared but you did it anyway. That is brave.”

The point came when Cavanaugh associated baths with hair washing and so he didn’t want to go in them at all.  Even if he was allowed to go a few baths with no wet hair, he was resistant to the bath each time because we might want to wash his hair. I began to picture my boy as the teenager who wouldn’t shower: the body odor, the battles. I kept hoping he would outgrow his resistance or fear. When he’d get water in his eyes in the swimming pool or sprinklers it didn’t phase him at all. I tried reasoning with my two year old. That didn’t work.

Then my friend Lisa offered me the bath tip to rival all bath tips. She suggested that I just not fill the tub so much. That way he could lie down and control how his hair got wet. He loves it. He often wants me to cup the back of his head as he lies down so that he doesn’t slip. He will sometimes request that I keep it cradling him but once he can feel his hair floating, I can usually slip my hand from beneath him.  He will look up towards the faucets and that helps get the top of his head wet. I can even cup my palm to pour water on the parts that aren’t soaked. He’ll sit up, let me lather him up, then he’ll lie back down.

So why are the baths still so infrequent? We have over two years of resistance. It’s a habit. He thinks he doesn’t want to take a bath though once he’s in there, he has a pretty good time. And I forget to even offer I am so used to a son who doesn’t bathe. We’re both working on it.

How does your child like the bath? Will s/he take showers? We’re not even close to those yet. Please share your tips and terrors. Happy bathing!

How Was Halloween? Spooktacular!

Eeyore and Tigger have been waging a war in my brain since I was a teenager. Sometimes, the glass is not only half empty, it’s knocked over. So when I started thinking I had outsourced Halloween, I heard the low slow tones of Eeyore telling me it was all ruined and I should just go back to bed. But when you have a toddler, you can’t sleep 15 hours a day, so Eeyore gets reasoned with more often these days. Tigger gives him a pep talk. They hash it out. And if I’m in a pretty good frame of mind, the debate roars on and I can just watch it floating across my mind as I notice what’s actually happening in the present moment: my nearly-three year old asking for toast and tea for breakfast, the crunch of dried playdoh and rice under the coffee tale. A little bit of mindfulness and well I at least notice where we need to vacuum.

So I spent last week’s Stay-at-Home Monday cleaning the upstairs and the rest of the week cleaning downstairs. Just so you know, if you clean ahead of time, you can do random things on party day like finishing a landscaping project. I bought mulch, bagged compost and sand, and put most of the finishing touches on a garden expansion. I did not stress Cavanaugh out with any new vest fittings. Mike had his fantasy basketball draft and though he’d worked until 3 a.m., he left again at 10 in the morning, and didn’t get back till 3:30. If it had been one of our regular party days, I would have been bouncing around like Tigger trying to get things done, but our to do list was short. Bean in crock-pot, check. Rice in steamer, check. Spray the lawn with garlic mosquito repellant, check. I took a shower. I didn’t dress in a costume. I didn’t even feel bad about it.

Our friends began arriving with one delicious vegetarian dish after another, kids dressed as kittens, angels, and witches. They ran around the yard. Everyone got to eat and chat while the costumed toddlers roamed from playhouse to tool table, book shelf to plastic slide. No pressure. If there had been stress, it would have been because I made it all up. Cavanaugh had even fallen asleep at 6:30 on Friday after the party at his future preschool and a trip to Target for popcorn and caramels. He transferred from the car to the bed. When he woke up three hours later, he said, “I want attention from you.” I changed his diaper, put his pajamas on him, gave him a sip of water and he lay down and went back to sleep. When does that ever happen?

The second greatest part was letting myself off the hook. I didn’t even make the caramel red chile popcorn balls. I decided to take a shower instead. Cavanaugh wasn’t pressured to run all over town or keep himself entertained while I scrambled to get the party together. The small still voice in my head reminded me that the people coming over were friends and they didn’t care if I’d washed the tempera paint off the front porch or that I hadn’t hung the pumpkins Cavanaugh and Nena had painted. They just wanted good company and a place for all our kids to play.

And the greatest part? Trick-or-treating. Cavanaugh’s buddy Sebastian was also dressed as a fireman and they rode around the neighborhood in the cardboard box firetruck Cavanaugh made a few weeks ago. They shared with a ballerina, a dog, a ghost, and a tiger. A stream of fast little feet ran to the doors and soon learned that if the front porch light is off, no one’s bringing any candy.

Cavanaugh would get to the front door and keep standing there after he’d been given candy. He’d reach back in the bowl. He’d try to go into the house. He’d try for third helpings. I’d remind him each time that he could take the treat, say “Thank you” or “Happy Halloween” and go to the next house for more candy. Was he listening? No. Did I care? No.

The crew had dwindled by the time we got back to our house. But we had a small core contingent that came in to share their candy. Nathaniel repeatedly dipped his tootsie pop into his cup of water before taking the next lick. Freya spread her goodies all over the loveseat so she could see her take. Annika wanted Freya’s candy more than her own. And Cavanaugh? He ate candy until he started throwing it away himself. I used my friend Courtney’s policy and explained that candy was only for eating on Halloween so when he went to sleep all the candy was going away. He would unwrap a piece or have me unwrap it for him, take a nibble and try to feed it to me. When I said I didn’t want anymore, he’d throw the uneaten parts into the trash. He ate enough candy that he didn’t want anymore. He crawled up into my lap with his pink leopard and cuddled it while his friends got ready to go home. We went upstairs and brushed teeth and almost immediately fell asleep. No tummy aches or puking. No sugar rush and delirium.

All of it was better than I could have imagined. Especially while we were trick or treating. I just kept looking at this crowd of people, our friends and partners in parenting, and felt so lucky to have such a supportive community. It was heart-opening to watch the kids crowd together and try to reach the doorbells, delve into their plastic pumpkins for shiny bits of candy, and even trip then jump back up again to run to the next house because they were so caught up in this new fun thing. Halloween was definitely reclaimed at our house.

What was the highlight of your Halloween?

Reclaiming Halloween

Halloween has been my least favorite day of the year for about 20 years now, which is a shame because I loved it as a child. I lived in a small valley 20 miles outside of Taos, New Mexico that maybe had a population of 500. I knew everyone up and down my road. We trick-or-treated at each other’s houses, but that was just the precursor.

At the only crossroad in the valley, Eric Vom Dorp, who is over six feet tall, hunched in his long black witch’s dress, his pointy hat adding another foot or so to cackling crone. He had a huge cauldron of homemade apple cider, which we drank on the hayride to the community center. There we bobbed for apples, did cakewalks and walked through the haunted house, the highlights of which were “brains,” a bowl of cold spaghetti to run your fingers through, and “spiders” dangling things that tickled against my face and sent a shiver up my spine. After the community center, a bunch of us kids would go back to my house and eat our candy while we watched Halloween movies. We carried the tradition into high school, sitting in the dark and jumping as Freddy Krueger’s nightmares invaded our playroom. Truly, Halloween was about getting to hang out with a bunch of people I loved, getting sugared up, and looking up at a sky slathered with stars, reminding us how big the night was and what imaginary scary things were out there while we all huddled together, happy and safe.

Then I went to college and the first Halloween party I attended was a six-kegger or so full of wasted strangers in togas and terrifying masks. I suffocate in social anxiety at parties populated by people I don’t know. Not being able to tell who anyone was made it even worse. If I was convinced (read: strong-armed) into attending a Halloween party, I obsessed over the costume, feeling inept because I can barely figure out what to wear on a regular day and my costumes growing up were whatever plastic thing my mom could find at TG&Y or Piggly Wiggly.

Before I had Cavanaugh, I had gotten to the point where I would pretend I wasn’t home on Halloween. I’d lock the door, turn off all the lights, and watch TV on a low volume so no one would know I was home. Some kids would ring the bell anyway. I’d hear their hopeful voices on the stoop and feel guilty and lame and lonely.

Now I have a kid. He doesn’t really understand what Halloween is yet. But I want him to. I took him to a park party on the day of and borrowed his friend Aidan’s apron so he’d have something to wear. I topped it with a pumpkin hat my sister sent in the mail. Feeling the pressure to be festive, I donned an apron after Mike put his on too. That night we watched It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown and trick-or-treated with our neighbors who also have small children. It was fine, but no memory maker. I was phoning it in.

Now, Cavanaugh’s starting to understand Halloween a little. I want it to be full of community and fun, not scary mean things or getting sick on candy. So when I walked the costume aisles at Target, I felt sad at the prospect of more store-bought holidays. I dreaded the end of this month and felt inept all over again because I hang out with a bunch of crafty mamas who can actually sew their kids’ costumes.

And then I started asking myself if this is it, if for the rest of my life Halloween will be automatically miserable, if I’m going to fake it for my son or pass on my loathing to him so he can hate it too. But I just can’t stand that. I’m not going to do it. Instead, we’re hosting a potluck party. I’m making Cavanaugh a homemade firefighter costume. And I’m debuting my red chile caramel popcorn balls. This is the year I’m reclaiming Halloween. I’ll let you know how it goes.

I’d love to hear about your own Halloween traditions from childhood and beyond. What do you do with your kids to make Halloween special? And how do you deal with the whole candy issue?

Learning How to Share

My son lay sobbing on the sun-room floor between our daybed and coffee table. If I tried to come near him, he kicked his feet and cried harder. His nanny was leaving and he didn’t want her to go. In fact, she had just told me moments before, “Your son won my heart today. He told me he loved me.”

Cavanaugh is nearly three. He has had a nanny six hours a week for the last three months. Besides the time he spends with his dad and the few months my mom lived in town and saw him a couple of afternoons a week, Cavanaugh is with me and has been with me pretty much all of the time for his entire life. So it was hard for me to watch him cry for someone else.

I’m excited he loves playing with her, loves her even. It helped that I’m reading A Secure Base: Parent-Child Attachment and Healthy Human Development by John Bowlby. I needed the reassurance that his ability to feel so attached to her comes because our relationship has provided such a secure base from which he can explore. But he didn’t even want me in the same room with him.

So I sat fifteen feet away on the living room couch and tried to figure out if it was better for me to face away from him and just sit there so he knew he wasn’t alone or look at him over the back of the couch so I would know when he was ready for me to hold and console him.

But I needed a little consolation myself. It took a lot for me to get to the point where I was even ready to have someone else take care of my child. The principle to provide consistent and loving care just seemed easier to manage if I was the one providing the care. Until I wasn’t being so consistently loving because I was getting burned out. Honestly, it took a while to get over my guilt at feeling so exhausted. But I’m human. I needed a break.

Then came the questions: How could we justify paying for a caretaker since I’m staying at home to be with him? How could we find someone who would honor his sensitive personality, be consistent with our parenting philosophy, and care for him–not just take care of him, but genuinely care about him?

As I worked out the logistics of finding another caretaker for him, whether to have someone in our house or take him elsewhere, if we should try a mother’s day out or a preschool, how large a group my introvert could handle and how to let him ease into a group and get used to another adult as a caretaker, I thought about how he would feel. I wondered about him learning how to share with other kids, or share his days with another caretaker, or share me so I could take some time for myself. I never imagined what it would feel like for me to have to learn how to share him.

The truth is he and I are both having to learn how to negotiate his having a nanny. We’re both experiencing growing pains and trying to learn what’s okay. When I walk out of my office to get to the kitchen or bathroom, Cavanaugh runs over from playing with Nena and pushes my bottom as he says, “Go back to work Mama” because he’s afraid I’m coming out to signal it is time for her to go home. Other times, he peeks his head in to see me and asks for a hug or finds some other reason to just see me for a minute, “Can I use the special marker Mama?” or “Nena and I are going to paint Mama.”

For my part, I have had to figure out how to spend my time, how to find a balance between needing a break and needing to be a productive human being with my own goals outside of motherhood. The first time he fell down and hurt himself while she was here, I went rushing in to comfort him and found him sitting in her embrace, the tears already waning.

We’re both having to learn new things and we’re both learning how to share. It’s hard work (except for the fingernail clipping. I’m happy to share that!).

I Want Some Attention

We’ve been working on a little something called, “I want some attention” at our house recently. In the zone between independent play and Mama-I’m-ready-for-you-to-drop-everything-else-and-only-be-with-me, Cavanaugh and I are apt to have some trouble.

Recent incidents include painting on the umbrella stand and daybed, putting crayons under the pillows in the bed, and dumping toys, instruments, art supplies, or whatever else is handy on the floor. The difficulty is that I’m not always in the room when any of this is happening. Cavanaugh will be happily building duplo block towers while I unload the dishwasher or carry the detritus that has gathered into a hazard up the stairs. Either an unlikely silence or much crashing has come to indicate that my presence is needed.

The first time I was aware this was happening (heavens knows how many it had occurred when it just hadn’t registered), I got out of the shower and heard no noise coming from downstairs. None. Here’s the thing about my son, he likes to chat. He narrates what he’s doing or talks to his toys as he plays: “Oh no, the tracks are falling apart. Percy crashed. Come to the rescue, Butch.”

When I walked downstairs, still damp and swathed in a towel because my mama senses had gone on high alert, I found ballpoint pen all over the couch. I reminded Cavanaugh that we only draw on paper. I asked “Why?” I took some deep breaths. But I know Cavanaugh knows he’s not supposed to draw on the furniture. He hadn’t forgotten. He had made a choice.

“I dinnen’t want you take a shower.”

So I ran through my options: yell, explain calmly why what he did was not okay, threaten to put all markers, crayons, pens, colored pencils, or any other marking device up so that he can’t play with them on his own, make him sit on the couch and think about what he had done. While I thought about which might actually be at all effective ad reminded myself that I believe in positive discipline rather than in punishment and fear tactics, I googled “ink stain removal couch.”

In my exasperated, totally not positive voice, I said, “Cavanaugh I need to be able to take a shower. If you want or need me, you can come upstairs and talk to me. We can sing a song. You can play with your cars. But you can not draw on the couch.”

Then it dawned on me that Cavanaugh was trying to get my attention. He didn’t want me to take a shower because he wanted to play with me. So I sat down on the floor where I could look him in the eye and asked him, “Cavanaugh were you trying to get my attention?”

He nodded and flopped into my lap in one motion. I so didn’t feel like cuddling. But that was exactly the point. He just needed me to slow down and be with him.

“Okay Cavanaugh, here’s the deal, we can’t play right now because we need to clean this pen off the couch. If you want my attention, do you know what you can do? You can say, ‘Mama I want some attention. If you draw on the couch, do you know what is going to get my attention? The couch is.”

So the couch got attention from both of us. (Hand sanitizer gel on microfiber works wonders, by the way.)

Though we’ve had a few repeats, for the most part they are de-escalating. Cavanaugh is intentionally doing something he knows will make me stop everything else, even if what I’m giving him next is my “mad voice” instead of some positive attention. I watched my high school students do this. I still do this, to my husband. When my blood sugar gets low or I’ve had a long mama day with no adult contact, rather than just saying, “I want some attention,” I’ll pick a fight.

Rather than the labyrinthine route most of us go through just to get a little notice, I’m working on teaching both of us how to straight up ask to get our needs met. My goal is as many ways to ask for positive attention as he can figure out methods to get the negative kind. I’ll list them below in case anyone in your house could use a little help with this too.

• “I want some attention.”
• “Can I have some cuddles?”
• “Be with me.”
• “I want to play with you.”
• “Carry me.” (Okay, I don’t actually use this one myself. But it works great when Cavanaugh says it.)

Our Failing Attempts at Toddler Dream Analysis

“There aren’t going to be any rollers again tonight, ” Cavanaugh said as he walked upstairs to get ready for bed.

Last night, he said, “I’m going to want to talk about the roller again” and the night before that, “There was a green roller by the fan. It came on the bed. There was a white garbage truck.”

Cavanaugh has been having nightmares since he was two months old, but this is the first dream he’s talked about. When his shaking body, fast breathing, and cries in the night started I read about sleep disturbances, trying to figure out what was happening to my son. Though it more closely fit the descriptions of nightmares than night terrors, no source I found even acknowledged that bad dreams could happen that early. Usually, I can just put my hand over his palpitating heart and his breathing slows. Occasionally he wakes up sobbing and needs to be held.

When he woke from this dream, he sat straight up and asked to go to “daddy’s bed,” the guest bedroom where Mike sleeps on nights he works late or on mornings he has to wake up super early. I misunderstood and thought he was asking for Mike to come sleep with us. We woke Mike up and he came in to bed and Cavanaugh fell immediately back to sleep, but the next night before bed, when he said we were going to have to go to daddy’s bed so the roller couldn’t get him, I started asking questions.

Cavanaugh explained the dream over and over, adding more emotional detail each time, his eyes getting wide, his arms waving around to show the roller moving across the bed. Apparently a green steamroller who doesn’t have any friends and is lonely tried to come up on the bed with Cavanaugh the other night. So did a garbage truck that is also not the roller’s friend. Cavanaugh’s prescription for the problem: “We need to find some machines that love him so he won’t be lonely anymore.”

Through many retellings, I still have not discovered what exactly the roller was trying to do to Cavanaugh: roll over him, be mad at him, sleep next to him, be Cavanaugh’s friend? And since Cavanaugh frequently talks about “all the people who love me,” especially since we put the memory board up in his room with pictures of “all the people who love you,” I don’t think this is some projection of himself.

For as long as he’s been having nightmares, he’s never been able to tell me about what happens in them. He hasn’t told me about the happy dreams either. Now that he’s telling me about this dream, I keep feeling like I’m not asking the right questions or saying the right things. This is not me being too hard on myself. I know that he’s benefiting from telling me about them so far, that his asking for reminders before bed the last three nights is a good thing. But I just keep having the feeling I’m missing something.

We’ve talked about how dreams are pictures in our heads and there is no real steamroller coming on the bed. I’ve suggested that he can say, “I don’t like that” in the dream, or “No.” We’ve discussed alternate endings in which a car carrier takes the steamroller to a place with other machines that will be his friends. The dream analysis unit in Psych 101 is not helping me here.  Any ideas would be greatly appreciated!

Do your kids have bad dreams? When they do, can you talk about them?

I Don’t Play Like Daddy

I’ve heard and read claims that dads are more likely to rough-house with kids: wrestle, throw up in the air, and be generally more physical. That’s not true at our house. The difference between Cavanaugh playing with Mike or me is that I can not sit around for long periods unless I feel like we’re doing something.

Playing trains does not feel like doing something to me. The trains go around and around the track. I get bored quickly. If Cavanaugh and I make up some elaborate story about one of the trains picking up mail and delivering it to various other trains, my attention span lengthens a bit, so he may get ten minutes from me at the table instead of two before I start trying to multi-task.

Likewise, at the park or some other place where we might meet up with other parents and kids for a playgroup, I like for Cavanaugh to run up the ramps, slide, dig in the gravel loading his dump truck with his excavator. I’m happy to sit next to him or help him on playground equipment, if he needs it, but my preferred activity is to hang out and talk to the other moms. When Mike takes Cavanaugh to these places or even out into our yard, he is content to dig, climb, and otherwise play with Cavanaugh.

I don’t think I ever really played like this, not as a kid and not now. I’m trying to learn, but the truth is, I just don’t like it. In Playful Parenting, Lawrence Cohen writes about the messages we give our kids when we don’t want to play the games they like or when we say it’s boring (whether literally or by just checking out with our attention or physical presence).  Cohen’s advice throughout Playful Parenting has helped my parenting immensely. It helps me not get into so many power struggles, to change the dynamic with a silly voice, to elicit conversation, and to generally just be more present with my kid. I don’t think my parents were particularly playful either. They liked to read books just like I do.

I realized recently I buy toys for Cavanaugh as frequently for myself as for him. Wow, am I tried of building towers with duplo blocks; maybe we would like shape matching dominoes. Mostly, I just want to sit next to my kid and be with him, not thinking about something else, just looking him in the eye and being with him. I can do that while we do puzzles, paint, bake, or engage in other games or activities that lead somewhere and have an end.

My husband, on the other hand, went to the park with Cavanaugh today and just threw rocks into the puddle below the bridge. And grass too. Cavanaugh came home with mud all over him (something he gets with me when I’m gardening and have created a dirtscape for him nearby so he can play with trucks while I weed, plant or dig with a planned and productive end.  They’d drawn chalk roads on the bridge and sidewalk. Cavanaugh was thrilled. Mike had a good time too. I would have been miserable, looking for an excuse to come home and play something I liked.

Though I’m working on that, I’ve got to say, I’m so grateful Cavanaugh has his dad to do it differently. While you’re not likely to ever hear a tale of me spending an hour throwing things into a puddle, unless I was playing Pooh sticks and there was an elaborate story involved so I could stay engaged for that long, I realize it’s doubtful I would ever come home and find that Mike and Cavanaugh had cut sponges into shapes to paint with or made an egg hunt from origami birds, kid vitamins and Hello Kitty stickers. Thankfully, Cavanaugh has both of us, and his nanny to make boats with flags in them, and his gramma to draw buses on a dry erase table or sit in a sandbox and do “hard work.”

Maybe I’ve finally figured out that not everybody has to do it like me and I don’t have to do it all. What a relief. (You may need to remind me again later).

How do differently people in your child’s life play with him or her?