parenting

Teaching the Children

By / June 13, 2010

One of the heaviest responsibilities for me as a parent is to make sure that my children are firmly grounded in the religious beliefs that I hold dear. This is primarily important because of what I believe about this life and life hereafter, but it is also important because faith has been an essential tool for me in handling life. When I am faced with things that are difficult or frightening, I turn to prayer, church, scriptures, and personal revelation. These are the means by which I have survived and will continue to survive. I desperately want my kids to have those tools at their disposal. So I take my kids to church. We pray in our home. Family scripture study is the beginning of the day. (At least in theory, scripture study got lost somewhere in the end-of-school craziness and we’ve yet to put it back.) Most of all, I tell my kids how I feel about these things and they have helped me. But all the teaching, shaping, modeling does not guarantee that my children will adopt these tools for themselves. I can demonstrate the usefulness of a fork all day, but until the child picks it up and practices using it, the fork is only a pointy piece of metal. (or a drumstick, or something to fling off the edge of the high chair.)

Many a parenting book or magazine article will tout the importance of “teachable moments.” These are the times when a child is actively curious about a particular topic. It usually begins with a question and sometimes sparks a discussion which expands to fill whatever time is available. Unfortunately these teachable moments arrive on the child’s schedule, not the parent’s. All too often I stay up late at night talking things over with a child because I found a moment where the words I say will really be absorbed. This is particularly true in relation to spiritual and religious topics. My kids know the right answers. They’ve been going to church their whole lives, it would be nigh impossible for them not to know. But there is a difference between answering “prayer” to a Sunday School question and getting onto your knees in real need, searching for answers to your troubles. It is the difference between seeing forks everywhere and actually using one. (The use of a fork is actually a skill, ask anyone who grew up using chopsticks.)

To my joy, I am not alone in this effort to teach my children about these spiritual tools. Howard and I believe the same things and so we work together rather than at cross purposes. That helps. It also helps that all of our extended family are immersed in the same beliefs. Everywhere my kids go, they see loved ones using these same tools. Most importantly the tools actually work. When my children pick them up and try them, then the same God who helps me, helps them in the same way. That knowledge alone lightens the burden of all the rest. I am not alone in this effort. They are His children too.

It is hard to describe the joy I feel when I see my children reaching for their own spiritual connections rather than relying upon me for answers. I love it when they have their own experiences with prayer or scriptures and then choose to share their feelings with me. At such moments I really feel how my children are spiritual beings in their own right and they’ve only been loaned to me for a time. I have a responsibility to teach them, but I do not own them. I’ve had several such experiences in the last few months and I do not have words to describe how grateful I am to be a part of the growth of these amazing people who happen to be my children.

Last Day of School

By / May 28, 2010

I sat in the sunshine on a bench out in front of the school. In a few moments children would burst forth from the building, free for the summer. At the moment all was quiet and a breeze flipped the pages of the planner in my lap. I closed my eyes and tipped my head back. I was at the school early for a reason. I needed to find the principal and have a talk with him. But he was not available for a few more minutes. So I sat.

Sometimes everyone means well and things still go wrong. Those good intentions can be so deceptive. I can talk to the teacher and feel her love for my child. I can talk to the child who puts a brave face on yet another incident. I see all the love, the compassion, the good intention, and I think that everything is fine. And it is. But at the same time it is not. All children have difficult days. Teachers, school administrators, and parents know this. And so we manage the difficulty, hoping for a better day tomorrow. But somehow, without anyone quite noticing, my daughter slipped into a place where difficult days were normal. Where the rare day is the one when she climbs into the car and says “I wasn’t mad today at all.”

Kindergarten children burst forth from the building with parents in tow. This means that the principal now has time to speak with me. I walk into the building, leaving sunshine for shadow. I rehearsed this conversation in my head all morning, now is the time to speak it. I was going to just let it go. I did not know that anything could be fixed so late. Then yesterday I overheard my daughter telling her brothers about a conflict during which she hit another child and had to be physically restrained by her teacher. It sounds like the incident itself was handled with wisdom, but if not for me eavesdropping, I would not have known. I am left to wonder what other emotional events have occurred at school about which I have not been informed.

I told the story to the principal and he was quite concerned. He agreed with me that I should have been called. We spoke to the aide in the LRR (think time out room) to discuss the times my daughter has been in there, other incidents about which I was not called. That room is bare. A single desk with a computer on it sits off to the side. Across a sea of carpet, huddled against the wall are five cubicles. A desk and a chair sit in each one, all facing the wall. This is the place where children are brought when they need a space to calm down, or when they must be removed from regular classes. The aide prints out a sheet documenting four times when my daughter was brought there. I was called once.

Behavioral modification techniques rely heavily upon a very fast action and consequence cycle. The most effective systems use an almost immediate penalty or reward for a specific behavior. The younger a child is, or the more impulsive a child is, the more immediate the consequence must be. These techniques have no chance at all of working if the consequence is too far delayed. Even more important is targeting a specific behavior with a specific consequence. I can’t even begin to work on modifying a behavior if I do not know the shape of the problem. I am not guiltless here. Part of my job as a parent is to communicate with teachers, to ask how things are going. This I did not do. I was not in the school regularly. I did not check up on how things were going. I was busy and distracted, so I trusted that the school staff would contact me if things got out of hand. And they did. Sometimes. Because they are busy and distracted too.

I held the paper in my hand. It contained four paragraphs telling me the details of four incidents. Removed from classroom for fighting. Would not settle down. Did not want to go back to class, said it was quieter here. My eyes water for what I read between the lines of text. But I must know if I am to help. I must know all of it. I must feed that intuitive center in my brain from whence solutions might spring. What I hold in my hands is evidence, solid evidence about my child’s experiences. I need more.

At my request, the aide makes a note that I am to be called even for small incidents. Next Fall I will have to check and make sure the note is still on the file. I have already decided that I have to be in the school much more often next year. I need to be speaking with her teacher at least weekly. I need to hear all the stories, see how she interacts with peers. If I do this, I expect that the staff of the school will be happy to support me. And if they do not, that is evidence too.

Meeting over, I return outside. My kids are already waiting in the bright sunshine, with class assignments for next year in hand. My daughter has a new teacher. That is what it says on her paper “New Teacher.” She will be in class with a complete unknown, someone who has not yet been hired. This could be good news or bad. I will know next Fall. For now, I breathe a sigh of relief as we walk away from the building. Summer will have conflicts aplenty, but I will witness them. I will know what they are. And perhaps by summer’s end I’ll have a better grasp on what my daughter needs.

Important Conversations

By / May 20, 2010

There are certain categories of conversation which jump to the top of the priority list. Sometimes it is a friend having a meltdown who needs to talk. Sometimes it is a marital disagreement that must be sorted out for hurt feelings to be resolved. Sometimes it is a child asking questions about life, death, religion, sex, friendships, relationships, or belief. These conversations arrive whether I am ready or not. Frequently I am not, but I must find the energy to give the other person the gift of my full attention. I never regret it. These conversations really matter despite the fatigue or distractions which threaten to derail them.

Sometimes adults are able to delay these conversations for a quieter, less tired time. Adults are able to wait. Kids don’t. I share information with my kids all the time. Much of it seems to bounce right off of them. But then comes a moment when the question is theirs. They are really wondering. I have the chance to drop my words into the very center of who they are. So I do. And I hope that my contribution helps give them a strong core around which they can build a belief structure and an identity. I have to take these moments when they come. Which is how I find myself discussing reproductive biology in the grocery store. Or I find myself discussing how we should respond to physically disabled people when one is in earshot. Or I sit upstairs talking to kids about relationships when my house is full of guests.

These conversations are important, but they are exhausting. By the time they wind to a close, I am ready to hide. Then I spend the next few days watching and observing to see if the conversation needs follow-up or if behavioral changes result. Important conversation count for yesterday: 3. Important conversation count for the past three days: 7. Considering this, it should not surprise me that today was less than effective for getting work done. I slept through a lot of it. Hopefully tomorrow I get back to work.

Mixed feelings while nearing the end of a school year

By / May 17, 2010

The fact that I have mixed feelings about the end of the school year is not news. My feelings on the matter are generally mixed. This year is more mixed than most. Kiki will be leaving junior high. Link will be leaving Elementary school and he’ll have to say goodbye to one of the best teachers he has ever had. Gleek really needs to be done with this year. She’s been a bundle of stresses as she valiantly tries to manage a social situation which does not play to her strengths. Patch will be sad to leave his first grade teacher. He’s had a really great year.

I’m worried for the summer. We have events scheduled almost every week, but keeping a daily schedule is going to be a challenge. I’m really looking forward to letting the kids stay up a little later and sleep a little later. That will be nice for awhile.

I’m worried for next fall. Both Kiki and Link will be settling in to new schools. The elementary school’s staff has had a major reshuffling and we’ve lost a lot of really good teachers. The good news is that I’ll have class placements on the last day of school which means I don’t have to spend the entire summer in suspense about what my two youngest have ahead of them.

The summer is busy, but the Fall is not. I am keeping it that way. I expect this Fall to fill up with parenting. Again.

The odds and ends of Penguicon thoughts

By / May 7, 2010

A last few thoughts which sprang from my experiences at Penguicon.

***

It was fascinating to me how many of my conversations at Penguicon turned to parenting. At first I was a little concerned. Parenting is huge in my life and a topic about which I feel truly competent to speak at length. I worried that I was somehow unconsciously shifting all conversations in that direction. But then I realized that parenting is huge in many lives. This was confirmed by David Kletcha, who kindly reassured me that writers talk about parenting all the time.

***

I truly enjoy people watching at conventions, because people have given themselves permission to wear things they love just because they love it. I’ll watch the couple wander by with big stuffed bees on their backs and I wonder what those stuffed bees mean to them. If I’m not completely burned out on socializing, I’ll sometimes ask. In every case the person lights up, happy to tell her story. People want to be seen. They want to matter and to be special. Among the fascinating choices in personal dress, I love most to see the ensembles which are aesthetically perfect. I want to say beautiful, but that is not the right word. Sometimes the clothes are meant to challenge. But I am always impressed when the person and the clothes form a harmonious whole. For example, I saw many corseted figures during the convention. Most of them looked somewhat uncomfortable. But there was one woman who passed my booth and she walked like the corset was not even there. She was graceful and proportionate. It was a beauty to behold. Upon inquiry, I learned that she is almost never without her corset. The practice showed beautifully.

***

A girl came by the booth with a hugely wide-eyed expression. She spotted the Schlock Mercenary merchandise and gasped “Oh he’s here?” As I watched she almost melted into a puddle of squee. She apologized to me saying. “I’m sorry this is my first convention.” I could tell she was shell shocked by having so many cool things gathered together in a way she had not previously believed possible. The squee was not so much for Howard as for all of it. I saw her several more times, and she appeared to have settled in to the convention. I’m glad. I hope she had a great time.

***

During the convention I had several good conversations with Jim Hines. He and I have met before and so I was glad to see him in person as well as on the internet. On the last day, when everyone is trying to catch everyone they want to fare well, Jim came up to the booth. We spoke for a moment and then it was time to part. There was the slightest pause and in typical Jim Hines “Let’s drag this thing we’re not saying into the middle of the room where we can look at it” fashion, he said “Do we hug?”
Yes we do. And we did.
I thought about that afterward. There are stages of friendship and acquaintance. Sometimes there are moments when the boundaries are still being defined. You feel close to the other person, but you don’t want to impose a level of intimacy that they may not be ready for. Then there is this careful dance which sometimes goes wrong. Hesitance to impose can be received as a hesitance to grow closer. Then two people, who really want to connect, both end up feeling a little rejected. When I find myself in this careful dance, I need to take a page from Jim’s book. His direct question opened him up to overt rejection, but it also made things clear. And then there was a hug.

***

One of the hazards of a convention is the repetition of stories. I’ll launch into a story and realize that I’ve related it twice before at this event, but I can’t remember whether it was to this group of people. Howard named this feeling Parastorynoia. Which is a pretty good word for it.

***

I was describing to Sal and Caryn the process off pushing myself to the edge of my limits and just beyond.
“When I do that, I discover how strong I am, and I’m less afraid forever.” I paused a moment “And sometimes I push far beyond what I thought my limits were.”
Sal responded, “When you do that, you get new limits.”
I looked at him and knew without a doubt that this he is a person who has gotten new limits repeatedly throughout his life. Extensive military training is designed to do that.
I haven’t been in the military, but it still feels like my life is a long stream of challenges after which I am stronger and less afraid. In some ways I’ve become a challenge junkie. I take on more than I should far too often. The risk is real. It is possible to break rather than become stronger. I have no intention of stopping, but seeing what I’m doing is good.

***

And on that note, I think I’m done sorting my Penguicon thoughts. Time to move on to the next things.

Regulation of Input and Retaining Reserves

By / May 5, 2010 / 2 Comments

Each evening as I returned to my room after a day of conventioning, I looked at my laptop and dreaded opening it. This is unusual. The internet is usually my friend. I like my regular blogs and email. But my brain was so full of new things, that the last thing I wanted to do was add more new things. My caution was wise because I ended the convention over loaded.

I’ve been back for three days now and I am still carefully regulating my input. I’m back to answering email and blog comments. But I still haven’t caught up on my usual internet sites. I’m not reading much that I don’t have to in order to keep our business running. Also I am sleeping more than I would like. It is a necessary reset, which is being hampered by my extensive list of things to do.

I’ve seen this sort of overload in my kids as well. Patch is the most prone to it. He really requires quiet spaces in order to stay his usual happy self. One of my jobs as a parent is to watch my kids and force them to slow down when they’re getting over stimulated. Apparently I need to do a better job of doing this for myself. A couple of friends at the convention told me how they always schedule time mid-con to hide from everyone and everything. This sounds wise.

I am already thinking about how I can put this into practice next August when Howard and I take the two oldest to GenCon. We are all going to be over loaded and I need to think carefully about how I can counter act that and give us quiet spaces. The kids and I may have to ditch the convention for an afternoon and go find a park to sit in. Or perhaps we’ll watch movies in the room. I am going to have to be much more careful to conserve my own energy. I can’t afford to run myself to the edge of my limits when I have two kids to watch out for. I’ll also have Howard who will run himself to the edge of his limits, as is his job. I need to spend energy making sure that the presence of the kids does not interfere with his ability to work the show. It will be an interesting challenge.

Conventions are not the only time when I need to spend energy regulating input. I still remember clearly the day I worked myself to my physical limits assembling two pallets of books, and then had to face a plethora of kid crises with zero emotional or physical reserves. That was the kind of day I vow never to repeat, and I haven’t, but I keep coming close. I think one of the hardest things about being a mother is that I can’t allow myself to run to the edge of my abilities. I have to hold part of my energies in reserve so that I can always answer the needs of the children. It was one of the joys of Penguicon that I could use up my reserves. Mostly. Except for the phone calls. (How exactly did they expect me to help find the eye drops in my brother’s house while I was over 1000 miles away? I don’t know, but they called to ask me anyway.)

Hmm. This post began talking about regulating input and ended with retaining reserves. My thoughts are still rambling and I lack the focus to bring things back around so that they all connect at the end of the post. Also I am still tired. So for today I will apply the lazy solution and add the words “and retaining reserves” to the title of the post. That makes it all relevant. Right?

At Fault

By / April 26, 2010 / 1 Comment

Sometimes things go wrong even when I’ve done everything right. There are days I follow the usual morning routine with cheerfulness, but am rewarded with grouchiness and squabbling. Or perhaps I stay home from an event that I’d like to attend because I feel it is best for the kids, but this does not prevent them from being whiny and volatile the next day. The meal is a favorite and I fixed it on schedule, but they all decide they don’t like it today. I’ve long believed that if I want life to improve, the person I need to change is me. But sometimes I am not the problem, and I have to accept that. Sometimes there will be conflict despite my best efforts. Then I find myself washed up in my room, feeling shipwrecked, and trying to figure out how to make it go differently next time. It probably should not be such a revelation to me that not everything in our family is my fault to fix, and yet I keep being surprised by the idea.

There are days when I am not at fault in a hard day, but I can see how I could improve our lives by doing things differently. Usually these are small, concrete things which would only take a little of my time. I could make the kids lay out their clothes at bedtime, so the mornings would be less hurried. If I just instituted a 10 minute pick up time every evening, the whole house would be neater. Link would benefit from me making him read aloud. I could make all the kid check the clocks in the morning to track their own progress toward school preparedness. These are all good ideas. Unfortunately they enter my brain and are tossed into my huge pile of good ideas. I would need 37 hour days to be able to implement every good idea that occurs to me. Many of my good ideas must lay idle. In my shipwrecked hours, I feel guilty about that. I feel guilty about the fact that I did not make Link read aloud every day in first grade. I knew it was a good idea. I knew it would help him, but it never got done. My unimplemented good ideas nag at me.

The days I like least are the ones where things go wrong because I am the one handling the situation poorly. I am human. I have cranky days and tired days. Sometimes my focus is not in the place it should be and I sacrifice the emotional needs of the kids for something which feels urgent, but really isn’t. I make mistakes. Then I have to give myself a time out, pull myself together, apologize, and try to make the rest of the day different. Oddly, I am more willing to forgive myself for having a cranky afternoon, than I am to accept that I can’t follow through on all my good ideas. Cranky days happen and I feel bad, but then they’re gone. The unrealized good ideas haunt me.

In one month school will be out. I will no longer have the school schedule as a prop to support my effort to structure our days. My unrealized ideas become particularly pesky at this time of year. Surely with the kids home all day every day I can find time to implement some of these things. I can make Link read aloud, practice typing, write stories, and mow the lawn. I can tutor Gleek in beginning piano, knitting, writing stories, dance, and gardening. Patch can read aloud, learn to ride a bike, practice writing, learn to organize his toys, and learn to fold laundry. I can teach Kiki to cook and assist her in furthering her art studies. All of that. Every day. While simultaneously writing a book, launching a book, preparing for several large conventions, sending kids to 3 different week long camps, maintaining a house, tending a garden, keeping in touch with communities of friends, and having a family vacation.

Obviously I need to be scaling back rather than adding things. It is a good idea. I’ll throw it right here in this pile.

My saving grace, and the reason I am not incapacitated by guilt, is that I have an instinct for which good ideas are really critical and which are optional. The critical ones don’t go into the pile. They get shoehorned into our days and made to work. I can also beat back the guilt by looking at what I did instead. It is hard to feel bad about idle good ideas when I can see that the day was filled with critical things.

But the most important realization which frees me from omnipresent guilt, is linked to what I said in the first paragraph. No matter how good I am, my children will still have off days. The opposite is also true. Even if I fail to implement a good idea, my children can choose it if they wish. Just because I fail does not mean that they will. My children are separate from me. In the end what they choose will have a far greater effect on their lives than anything that I do or fail to do. This is another idea which I constantly rediscover with surprise, but the older my children get, the more true it becomes.

My best is all I have to give. The rest is up to them.

Parenting in Public

By / April 25, 2010

Ever have that weird situation where to an uninformed observer you appear to be doing something completely unreasonable or even cruel, but you’re actually doing the good and right thing?

-Facebook status for a father of many children, some of whom have special issues

My answer is yes. Particularly today my answer is yes, because I have a fresh-in-my-memory example. Gleek melted down at the end of church today in very visible location. So I stood in the hallway, watching my child exhibit behaviors which are more typical of toddlers than third graders. I could see how her behavior (and my minimal reaction to it) look like poor parenting. In fact I’ve had people say “Well, I wouldn’t put up with that.” As if I had a choice. As if a stern scolding and time in a chair would teach her not to make a public scene.

The thing is, the scene was caused by an application of discipline. I informed her that she had to carry her own coat home, as I’m tired of being a pack mule. I informed her of it prior to church when she could decide whether or not to bring the coat. She brought the coat and then was very angry with me that I would not carry it. I did not back down, despite the public scene. Had I backed down, I would have purchased peace for today, not by solving a problem, but by delaying it. The battle would have come again a different day, unless I resigned myself to schlepping home bags and coats for 3 people every Sunday. I won my point in today’s scene and I won’t have to fight this one again. Gleek will know that she has to carry her own things.

This has always been the way with Gleek. She pushes against boundaries by instinct. I have to stand firm and not give way. It sounds clear cut, except for the fact that her heart and soul are sensitive. She sees that she is in conflict far more often that people around her. She worries that this is because she is a bad person. It is hard for a person to grow and flourish in conflict, and so I not only have to stand up to her, I also have to give way. I have to help her find peaceful resolutions. She probably would be better behaved if I never let her bend the rules, but I think it would either kill her lively spirit that I love, or she would explode into major rebellion in her teen years. This is what I have to remember: sometimes it is important to lose a battle for the sake of the campaign. Other times a battle must be won even at costs that look out of proportion.

It all sounds very adversarial, but Gleek and I are not enemies. In fact she feels closest to the people who will stand up to her. She is most secure with people who take whatever she can dish out and still love her. And it is not always pushing on limits. More and more often, she is taking the reins of her own life and choosing the kind of person she wants to be. She is quelling feelings of loneliness by serving others. She is directing her energies into building games for younger kids. She is learning self respect through responsibility. But these things are quiet, while the battles are noisy. They feel particularly noisy in the hallway at church where I know people are politely not staring.

The good news is that I know the people at church. The majority of them were feeling sympathy, not passing judgment. It is the quiet sympathy of being glad that someone else’s child is the one with the issue today. I would run out of fingers before I stopped enumerating the number of loving adults who understand Gleek and who like her. My sister was told by a child psychologist that some people will assume bad parenting no matter how the situation is explained. I am glad that there are also people who will look on with sympathy because they have been there too.

By the clock

By / March 26, 2010

On school mornings I wrest the covers off of my children one at a time. Then I go around and do it again because they all groan and pull them back on. (Except for Kiki. She gets up and gets herself ready.) Eventually I prod them down to breakfast. Then they meander their way toward being ready while I dash around the house shouting things like “Where are your shoes?” “You’re going to be late.” and “I sent you to get dressed 15 minutes ago, why are you playing with legos while wearing nothing but underwear?” By the time I drop them at school I feel frustrated and they feel harried. It is not how I want us to start the day, but often that is how it goes.

Children do not measure their lives by clocks or calendars. They rely on other things to give them a sense of where they are in time. On busy days when lunch gets skipped (usually replaced by an endless stream of they-helped-themselves snacks) the kids complain, not from hunger, but because they somehow arrived at dinner without knowing that the day was passing. When I need to describe an upcoming event, the kids are better able to comprehend if I describe it as being after a birthday or a holiday rather than naming the number of months or days.

I’ve known this for a long time. What I did not realize until a couple of months ago is that the kids do the same thing on school mornings. They pace themselves against the shrillness of my voice. I noticed that on the mornings when I am up early and focused, we get out the door early. I still have to cajole to get them moving. The only difference is that I increased the intensity of my cajoling earlier. On the mornings when I get distracted, they spend a longer time laying around or playing. On those mornings they are late.

The kids are very dependent upon having someone standing around saying that they are running out of time. Once I recognized it, I could see how it was not an ideal way to run the mornings, but I didn’t know how to change it. Ideally the kids should be watching the clocks for themselves rather than waiting for me to poke them. Heaven knows we have enough clocks in the house. I have tried applying consequences for being late. One morning I declared that anyone who was not ready when I declared “time to leave” would owe me an extra chore. It was a fairly good motivator, except for the fact that I then had to follow through and make them do the extra chores. Even so, it is a system that still has the kids depending upon me for their timing cues. Mostly we just muddled through. I figured I’d just have to keep scolding and wait for them to take responsibility the way that my oldest now does.

This morning another option clicked. Once I’d managed to herd all of the kids to the breakfast table, I made them look at the clocks and tell me what time it was. 7:12. I then asked them when we had to leave the house to get to school on time. They did not know. 7:45 I told them. I declared that at 7:40 I would shout “Time to go.” At that point the kids were to be ready to walk into the front room, collect their things, and get into the van. At 7:45 I would leave with whoever was ready. Anyone who was not ready would owe me an extra chore to make up for the extra trip to school. Since I’ve actually been requiring chores lately, the consequence loomed large for them.

It was a good start, but more important was the rest of the way I ran the morning. Instead of saying “You need to get moving.” I would say “check the time.” Instead of “go get your shoes” I’d say “when the clock says 7:35 you need to go get your shoes on.” The key was constantly making them look at the clock and measure how fast they need to go by the clock. This is one of those subtle but potentially powerful shifts in parenting technique. In theory enough practice at this will have them using the clock as a time management tool. It will probably take a lot of practice.

I should mention that this technique would not be effective on children who can’t tell time yet. In fact, I still had to help seven year old Patch stay on track much more than the older two. Even with him it was very helpful to have him and me working together against the time on the clock, rather than him having to dress to my commands. For one morning I was not the villain. Even better, everyone was on time for school today and I didn’t have to shout.

Rambling Observations on a Sunday Afternoon

By / March 21, 2010 / 2 Comments

We had developed a pattern. On Sunday afternoons the kids would all dash home from church and run straight for the video games and spend the rest of the day glued to them. Despite the fact that they collectively spent five or more hours playing, there were always shouts of “But I didn’t get a turn!” when the time came to turn the games off. I realized that I did not particularly like the pattern that developed and so I mentioned it to the kids. They agreed that there were better things we could be doing with our Sunday afternoons. Collectively we decided that each child could have a 30 minute turn playing either a video game or a computer game. Then the electronic entertainment would have to be turned off.

Last Sunday was the first one on the new plan. It went really well. The turns went like clockwork and then the games turned off. The kids spent the rest of the afternoon playing games together. Today was a little rockier. The kids were more inclined to squabble than to play nicely. But I still resisted the allure of letting them play electronic games. By about the third hour of squabble intervention I noticed something. Most of the squabbling occurred when Gleek attempted to seize control of the activity. If the boys resisted her control then she would yell or begin behaving in ways that ruined the game for everyone.

This reduced video game experiment has proved worth the effort just for this insight into Gleek. I don’t yet know where this need to control is coming from, but now I can be watching. Once I identify the emotional need or developmental stage which is driving the need to control, I can begin addressing it. If the need is filled or the stage weathered, then the controlling behavior will evaporate and so will the resulting conflicts. I’ll be observing more in the coming week.

The week days retain the same amount of video game time that they had before. This is fine. I believe the kids should get to spend time in the activites that they enjoy. I also expect that the nice weather will be drawing them outside more and more often. That will be good too.