I feel like I'm losing it. Not my sanity, although some moments I think that's probably gone, too! No, I'm talking about my compassion. I've found myself easily frustrated and irritable with the kids the last little while, and I've been wondering where my compassion has gone. When I force myself to stop and think about the losses our kids have experienced, it's easy to feel compassionate; they've all experienced the loss of the woman who bore them - her warmth, her voice, her being. In addition to that, the boys endured the loss of their foster family. Although they were too young to have conscious memory of it, they lost a mom and a dad, and two awesome big brothers. Kolbie came to us after he had already securely attached to his foster family... not an insignificant transition. This is a lot of emotional upheaval for a growing brain to process - so it's really no wonder that we're dealing with a few things that seem to be related to these early losses.
So why am I losing it?? It seems I suffer from a sort of amnesia when it comes to this stuff. It's easy to remember all the reasons my kids have for feeling sad and fearful and out of control when I'm talking to other adults, or when they're all sleeping and looking like perfect little angels. But put me in a room with them when I'm over-tired, dealing with a migraine, and wishing I had an extra pair of hands to clean up the most recent mess while keeping one of them at arms' length from the other, and I'm just annoyed. Frustrated, even. Okay, I'm angry. Compassion?! Forget it. We just had this discussion last week/yesterday/five minutes ago. It is NEVER okay to whack somebody in the head with a hard toy because they didn't get out of the way fast enough. Never. At these moments it takes every ounce of self-control I have (and sometimes I don't have enough) to not turn in to a 3-year-old and vent my frustration in a decidedly child-like manner. I've written before about how hard it is to show love when they're misbehaving, and I'm discovering it's a theme I need to re-visit.
So, what does love look like when I'm dealing with my kids' misbehaviour? I believe it looks self-controlled and respectful. I'm pretty sure I should try to do what I'm asking them to do - express my feelings and make my point in a way that doesn't hurt or coerce anyone. I know I have to remember where they've come from, and that they may be reacting to my voice and body language with fear and anxiety. "Love is patient and kind... It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged." (1 Corinthians 13:4,5) Darn. I do impatient and irritable so well.
So, how am I going to remember all this the next time I feel like stomping my feet and indulging in a little temper tantrum?! Practice, practice, practice. Remember the re-do? Turns out it's not just for kids. And I'm hoping that the more I practice, the better we all get.
"Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance."
1 Corinthians 13:7
Friday 27 January 2012
Monday 9 January 2012
A little creativity goes a long way...
Eating supper as a family has not always been the most peaceful time of day in our home. You know that "Whack-a-Mole" game? The one where little mole heads keep popping up and you have to try and thump as many of them with a club as you can? That's kind of what our supper table has been like in the past - minus the head-thumping, of course. As soon as everyone would finally be seated, and Brian and I were attempting to enjoy our meals, a little body would come popping up out of its seat and start running across the house on some crazy mission. This kind of thing is contagious, of course, so before long there would be three little bodies running around, giggling hysterically. Brian and I tried a little bit of everything. We started off with a playful approach, using reverse psychology -
"Don't eat your supper!"
"You won't like this, it's disgusting!"
"Mmmm, I hope ______ doesn't want his/her food because I want to eat it..."
When we didn't see results we quickly moved on to more desperate tactics: bribes and threats -
"If you take 3 bites then you can have_______!"
"If you don't eat your supper then you'll have to eat it for snack before bed."
"Nobody gets to play with toys until they eat their supper!"
But this didn't get us very far either, and left a bad aftertaste that the most delicious meal couldn't take away.
I even tried following them around the house with their food, abandoning all efforts to keep them seated at the table. I figured my main goal was feeding them, so did it really matter where they were eating?! This led to a slight difference of opinion with my husband, who was feeling more than a little frustrated by how things were going and was starting to wonder if we'd ever be able to take our kids out in public again.
I remember one night in particular. None of the kids had napped, so I knew that they would be especially wiggly at supper. I made spaghetti and meat sauce, one of our favourites, with the hope that full tummies would increase our chances of a good night's sleep. As we sat down and said grace, things didn't look good. One of the boys fell off his chair while we were praying, so the giggling started before anyone had even taken a bite. In a moment of desperation/inspiration I said, "Hey, I'm going to tell a story while we're eating!" Encouraged by the fact that all three of them were sitting still in their chairs and looking at me expectantly, I ignored Brian's rolling eyes and continued. "One day, three kids named Kolbie, Logan and Rylie went to their Grandma and Grandpa's house..." Every few sentences I'd stop and say, "Okay, let's all take a bite!" Completely distracted from their usual disruptive urges, they kept shovelling food in their mouths as I told the riveting tale of how they got to ride their bikes at my parents' house today. Then, to my utter astonishment, my wiggliest child looked up from his nearly empty bowl and said, "Thank-you-for-the-supper-I-please-leave-the-table?" He sat in his chair, ate his supper, AND remembered his manners. Victory!
I stumbled upon something very valuable that night - while I was telling the story, we were connecting. They kept chiming in and adding little details about our day. We got to laugh together about all the goofy things that happened. We took the focus off whether or not they were eating, and the eating happened. A few years have passed since that night, but we still use stories to help keep us all at the table at suppertime. We don't need it every night, and I'm not energetic enough to make up stories, but many evenings will still find me with a fork in one hand and a book in the other. And I love it!
What are some strategies you've found successful in your attempts to have a somewhat peaceful family meal?
"Don't eat your supper!"
"You won't like this, it's disgusting!"
"Mmmm, I hope ______ doesn't want his/her food because I want to eat it..."
When we didn't see results we quickly moved on to more desperate tactics: bribes and threats -
"If you take 3 bites then you can have_______!"
"If you don't eat your supper then you'll have to eat it for snack before bed."
"Nobody gets to play with toys until they eat their supper!"
But this didn't get us very far either, and left a bad aftertaste that the most delicious meal couldn't take away.
I even tried following them around the house with their food, abandoning all efforts to keep them seated at the table. I figured my main goal was feeding them, so did it really matter where they were eating?! This led to a slight difference of opinion with my husband, who was feeling more than a little frustrated by how things were going and was starting to wonder if we'd ever be able to take our kids out in public again.
I remember one night in particular. None of the kids had napped, so I knew that they would be especially wiggly at supper. I made spaghetti and meat sauce, one of our favourites, with the hope that full tummies would increase our chances of a good night's sleep. As we sat down and said grace, things didn't look good. One of the boys fell off his chair while we were praying, so the giggling started before anyone had even taken a bite. In a moment of desperation/inspiration I said, "Hey, I'm going to tell a story while we're eating!" Encouraged by the fact that all three of them were sitting still in their chairs and looking at me expectantly, I ignored Brian's rolling eyes and continued. "One day, three kids named Kolbie, Logan and Rylie went to their Grandma and Grandpa's house..." Every few sentences I'd stop and say, "Okay, let's all take a bite!" Completely distracted from their usual disruptive urges, they kept shovelling food in their mouths as I told the riveting tale of how they got to ride their bikes at my parents' house today. Then, to my utter astonishment, my wiggliest child looked up from his nearly empty bowl and said, "Thank-you-for-the-supper-I-please-leave-the-table?" He sat in his chair, ate his supper, AND remembered his manners. Victory!
I stumbled upon something very valuable that night - while I was telling the story, we were connecting. They kept chiming in and adding little details about our day. We got to laugh together about all the goofy things that happened. We took the focus off whether or not they were eating, and the eating happened. A few years have passed since that night, but we still use stories to help keep us all at the table at suppertime. We don't need it every night, and I'm not energetic enough to make up stories, but many evenings will still find me with a fork in one hand and a book in the other. And I love it!
What are some strategies you've found successful in your attempts to have a somewhat peaceful family meal?
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