Laissez-faire

Disclaimer: This post is a medium for catharsis on my part. Consider yourself warned.

Last night, after a pitched battle with Lyndon over eating his dinner for the second night in a row, I had the opportunity to do a little soul searching. The impetus for the search was a sick feeling in my stomach that undoubtedly stemmed from the fact that I had forced him to eat his dinner. But I had put my foot down, and he had put his foot down, and one of us was going to win, and it wasn't going to be the almost-three-year-old. I kept threatening to slap his mouth if he didn't swallow his food until his plate was clean. Just for the record, I never slapped his mouth, but I felt terrible that I had used such coercive tacticts on a person who is still too young to even be held accountable for his actions.

I worry that he is going to be a picky eater who makes things difficult for Karen and I down the road, and I used that as justification for my behavior. In retrospect it sounds silly, but in the heat of the moment it was all the justification I needed to draw a hard line.

After dinner, we had a cooling off period (literally and figuatively) at the YWCA--it was Lyndon's first night of swimming lessons with his friend Jeffry Tate. As I watched Lyndon eagerly await his turn with the instructor to float on his stomach and back, kick his feet, paddle his arms, and scoot along the side of the pool wall, it hit me like a ton of bricks that he's just a kid, and I've been expecting too much from him. I was so proud of the little guy for being so brave and cooperative during his swimming lessons.

After his lesson, he was so thrilled that he'd gotten to go swimming. His eyes were full of excitement as he expressed his hopes to Karen and I that "next time, maybe I can jump in the pool like this!" (as he proceeded to demonstrate with a hop how he had seen some of the older kids on the other side of the pool jump into the arms of their swimming coaches down in the water).

When we got home, I put the kids down to bed while Karen took off to her book club to be with her friends. Lyndon gave me a "great, great big hug" and a matching kiss before getting in bed and told me how much he loved me.

After the kids were asleep, I sat down on the couch to pick up a book that I started a while ago but never finished--"The Kite Runner." As I read about the unflinching loyalty of the main character's childhood friend and the friend's willingness to forgive his buddy for even the most egregious offenses, I couldn't help but think of Lyndon telling me how much he loved me before bed--just hours after I had been so short-tempered with him at dinner. That's when I started feeling sick to my stomach.

As I read the book, my mind was somewhere else thinking about how I needed to change my behavior vis-a-vis my children - Lydnon in particular. I realized that most of the dialogue I have with him goes something like this: Me - "Lyndon, you need to _____"; Lyndon - "I don't want to"; Me - "I didn't ask you if you wanted to, I told you to _____"; Lyndon - (silence, during which he refuses to ______); Me - "Lyndon, you have a choice: you can _______, or you can sit in timeout"; Lyndon - (silence during which he refuses to _____); Me - "Lyndon, I'm not going to tell you again"; Lyndon - (usually silence, during which he still refuses to ______, but on a rare occassion he'll _______). After which, I will have to follow through with the threat of time out if he doesn't _____. This dialogue takes place all the time.

I realized that I was tired of the constant confrontation. This, coupled with the awareness that he is still just a child and will be for several more years, helped me determine that my parenting style needed to change and that, for the most part, I need to back off.

When Karen came home last night, we laid in bed until close to 1:30 am. and talked about some of my behaviors that I need to change.

This morning, in the shower, a word came to my mind that I hadn't thought about since my ninth-grade History class - "Laissez-faire," which, roughly translated, means to "let do". The term has come to be understood as an economic one that connotes the idea that "private initiative and production are best allowed to be free of economic interventionism and taxation by the state beyond what is necessary to maintain individual liberty, peace, security, and property rights." Wikipedia, Laissez-faire (citing Oscar Handlin (1943). "Laissez-Faire thought in Massachusetts, 1790-1880". Journal of Economic History 3: 55-65).

As the term relates to my most recent thoughts on how I should interact with Lyndon, it means that a child's initiative and production are best allowed to be free of parental interventionism and emotional taxation by the Father beyond what is necessary to maintain individual liberty, peace, security, and property rights, i.e., he still won't be permitted to hammer the keys of my laptop.

As part and parcel of the reforms, I decided I need to get up earlier in the morning so I can have time to shower, get dressed, and make breakfast for the family while Karen showers so that we can have some family together-time in the mornings.

So this morning, instead of sleeping until 7:50 and then rushing to get out of the house by 8:15, I set my alarm for 7:00 am. When it went off, I had plenty of time to shower, get dressed, make French toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon while Karen showered, and eat breakfast as a family. Today was the first time in a very long time that our family has had breakfast together on a non-holiday weekday. It was absolutely wonderful (and much less stressful). When Lyndon protested that he wanted Cocoa Puffs, not french toast, I let him have his way. I gave him a small bowl of Cocoa Puffs and whattaya know - when he finished his Cocoa Puffs, he ate some french toast, scrambled eggs, and even bacon! I think I'm going to like Laissez-faire.

Today marks the beginnning of a new era in our family - hopefully an era of more understanding, of patience, of family breakfasts, of togetherness, and of letting our kids be kids while they still can.