How to Win a Battle Against Your Child

If you're already a parent, you probably read that title and thought "Ha!" And you're right, trying to win the battle with your child is a fool's errand, but in my pride and stubbornness I had to learn that the hard way. So in case my missteps help any other rookies out there, I thought I'd share (and all you expert parents who know better can enjoy a good laugh).

As my maternity leave wound down, we eased Vennela into preschool, and she went every day for short days leading up to my first week back at work. Then when I started back at work, we needed to get to school on a more specific time frame so that I could be at work on time. That's when the trouble started. As I tried to move Vennela quickly through the morning routine, it got progressively harder. It seemed the more I urged her to move quickly, the slower she moved, then the more stressed and irritated I got, until it ended in tears. Finally, after one particularly bad stretch of multiple days in a row, I sat at work feeling defeated. Something wasn't working. "How do I fix this?" I despaired. "How do I make her do what I want and move faster? How do I win?"

I thought about how our mornings were going.

She pokes along through breakfast (and yes, it does look like she's flipping me off in this photo- she's not, but how slow she was going sure felt like a big middle finger in my face)

I get stressed because there isn't a lot of time for both her and my morning routine.

I tell her to hurry up and get dressed.

She moves even slower somehow.

I get frustrated and put her clothes on for her.

She refuses to brush her teeth.

I get mad and brush them for her.

I plop her in front of Daniel Tiger, rush through dressing and getting ready myself, and hurry her out the door.

She moves at a snails pace, and after asking ten times for her to walk I pick her up and carry her to the car (usually while she screams at me).

We drive to school while she cries giant, silent tears, and eventually I apologize for getting frustrated and tell her I need her to listen better.

Sounds really fun doesn't it? But let's take a closer look at what was happening in the morning.

I am stressed because there isn't enough time. I get frustrated. I get mad. I. I. I.

It slowly dawned on me. The real problem wasn't Vennela moving slowly, or not listening, or any of those other things.

The problem was with me.

I was getting stressed out because there wasn't enough time, and that made me irritated and snippy, and when she could tell I was frustrated with her, it made Vennela sad, and she moved even slower. When I thought about the interactions from her perspective, I could see- what a terrible way to start the day, feeling like your parent that you love feels that you are a burden dragging them down. If there isn't enough time to get ready and out the door on time, that is on me. It's up to me to do what is necessary, and in this case it was getting up earlier so that I could get ready before she woke up. I didn't particularly like that, because I love sleep, but I am the adult. She is four. It's not her fault if I don't give us enough time to get out the door. I didn't need to win the battle. I needed to stop creating the battle in the first place. This is true of more things than I care to admit, and something I am reminding myself of over and over when V and I butt heads.

Now our mornings can look more like this:

I mean, not every day. We're only human. 

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