Saturday, May 10, 2003

THE NEGOTIATOR (May 2003)

A friend mentioned last week her sadness about disciplining her two-year-old granddaughter Jessica.  Been there myself.   You're beating yourself up for disciplining the tot and s/he's off in a corner figuring out another way to get to what s/he's been told numerous times in just as many ways s/he's not to touch.
Brandon's a button pusher.  He learned the phrasing and practice at home.  Dawn's said it many times, initially of Matt who knows what will irritate her and persists until she loses patience.   Now Matt and Brandon push one another's buttons, and Brandon's learned the lesson well.

Brandon may begin by asking.  Refused, he moves to pleading, inserting several 'pleases' with his request.  He even negotiates when he suspects a remaining chink in the adult's naysaying.  Somewhere along the line, when he realizes he's getting to my last nerve, Brandon grins (damn him!) and affirms, "I'm just pushing your buttons, Grandma."

If he's really serious about having/getting/doing something he's been denied, he will be dogged, going so far as to challenge authority.  Last week I stooped to corporal punishment.  He persisted in jumping with his feet and landing on his bottom in my easy chair even after repeated requests that he sit and not use it as a trampoline.  I convinced him of my resolution when I fulfilled the threat to smack his bare bottom (once I caught him).

When released and out of arm's reach, he turned and said, "That didn't hurt," to which I replied, "But it could have."   Either the logic of what I said made sense or, more likely, he lost interest in the challenge.  I don't care why, at least he didn't jump on the furniture again.

I'm sure the veterans of the Grandparents' Club are smirking at the problems yet to be faced.  I know: The problems won't end, they'll just change.

I'm going to go take a nap.  Just thinking of what's ahead has worn me out.



Copyright ©2003  Kitty Park

Friday, January 10, 2003

BLACK-EYED PEAS (January 2003)

Northern and southern New Year's Day traditions were blended when Roy and I were married over 35 years ago.  We ate my sauerkraut and pork with his black-eyed peas.  (The greens, to be eaten for monetary success, morphed into a lime Jell-O and pear concoction.)

Matt, Dawn's husband, is a man with distinct tastes.  He refuses to sample the sauerkraut (or pork since it cooks with the 'kraut) or black-eyed peas.  On New Year's Day he eats something else.

Unlike his dad, Brandon, now nearly three years old, wants to try everything.  Yesterday, while eating a bowl of black-eyed peas, Brandon said to me, "Grandma, you make good food."  I smiled at his praise.  That was right before he put a forkful of sauerkraut into his mouth.  And immediately spit it out on the tablecloth.



Copyright ©2003  Kitty Park