The Way of the Toddler Calmer (II)

Last night I used another trick for calming an over-tired toddler. In this case the dear beloved over-tired 3 yr old in question was fixated on asking Mommy about a party blower that her cousins had.

After dimming the room and reading a few stories, I told her that I would go get Mommy to hear her question, but only after she went and lay down in her bean bag with her eyes closed until I counted to 60.

"one, two, three, four, ... fifty-four, 'ifty-five, 'fty-six, 'fty-seven, 'ty-eight, 'ty-niiiiine, thirty, thirty-one, ..." and so on in an ever softer voice, until I heard her breathing change and the question was safely deferred until morning.

The Way of the Toddler Calmer

Over the course of the last seven years or so, there has from time to time been one cranky toddler or another in the Diller house who was too tired to get to sleep. Most parents will know exactly what I'm talking about: a condition known variously as "over tired", "T.R.S.", "frantically tired", etc.

My early attempts at dealing with this condition were typical testosterone-soaked white-belt attempts to be tougher than the toddler, not to be manipulated, to meet strength with strength, and so forth. The predictable outcome was usually to emerge frazzled after far too long when said child finally exhausted his or herself to sleep.

Behold, after seven years training by the 3 year old masters themselves, the black-belt way: redirect and seduce.

The "I want Mommy, I want Mommy, I want Mommy" or "I wanted two pieces of cheese, I wanted two pieces of cheese..." or fill in the blank with some other demand, is actually excess of energy that needs to be redirected. The most effective method is to startle the wailing one into laughter. Witness Caroline tonight, who was crying for Mommy to stay, but Mommy was unwilling to stay after repeated violations of under-the-shirt personal space. Nothing at all against Mommy, who has very lovingly tucked and kissed and prayed and sung, but a change of character is called for (This could just as easily be Mommy switching out for Daddy). Enter Daddy, who bends down and repeatedly asks, "What? I can't hear you through all the wailing. It sounds like someone is saying I want to play in hay!"

"No Daddy" sniff! sniff! "I want Mommy to stay." Resume wailing.

"I thought you were saying you wanted to play in the hay."

Silence. "What?"

Now the moment is right. I have her attention. Time for the bait and switch.

"I thought you said you wanted to play in the hay. Does your back still itch like you were telling me earlier?"

"No" sniff sniff!

"Because I was thinking wouldn't it be funny if you got one of our chickens to climb on your back and scratch it for you?"

This silly and not actually very funny proposition provides the miniscule excuse necessary, and out comes a flood of over-energetic laughing. If you've heard it, you know it. It's too loud and it's too hard, but the release is palpable. She was just looking for an excuse to laugh, which has a lot of the same energy as crying, but it makes you feel a whole lot better.

I watch her body relax. I see the tears start to dry. I hear the shaky breaths start to even out.

Now it's time to switch into relaxation mode. The tension has been released, she's ready to be seduced into closing her eyes and sleeping. We play the make-pancakes game on her tummy. All of the ingredients are poured out and mixed up with Daddy fingers on the soft tummy. The pancakes are poured out in spirals. The loooong wait for the bubbles to form before we can flip them. The eyes closed better to imagine the smell. Anything she wants can go into those pancakes, usually chocolate chips and pecans. After a lip-smacking taste, she lies back and is asleep within a couple breaths more.

Isn't that better than cry-it-out?

Sweet Music of the Lawn Mower

Sometimes it takes a special event to snap out of a long blogging hiatus. Well, today was something of a landmark in the only father-son relationship in our house. I was out mowing when Ian came up to me. Whether or not he was in fact prompted by his mother I neither know nor care because some of my favorite words came out of his mouth, "Hey Dad, need any help?"

"Sure can you fetch me the gas can?"

It was high on a shelf, and I almost went to go help him, but then he came beaming around the corner, gas can in hand, and I thought, "Onward and upward, today." I had just asked him whether he wanted to push the mower, and he had just said yes, when there was a quick interruption. My dear wife is a little squeamish about these things and needed me to come in and help Eliza, who this morning was suffering a freak stomach bug complete with shakes and vomiting.

Porcelain intimacies all complete, I came back out to find Ian waiting faithfully next to the mower. (Unheard of, if you don't know him.) Before long, he was happily running the mower back and forth across the grass.

So for today's mowing, the new responsibility and the joy of eating up the long grass was its own reward. Look at the smile.

What a joy to watch him pitch in with such enthusiasm. It won't be too long, I'm sure, before we start to pay him for lawn mowing, but today was special. He's also learning a skill that can earn him his own real money. Adventures to come...