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We were headed back from my friend’s house when it happened. My almost 7-year old son had been a perfect angel for his auntie (my best friend): polite, inquisitive, cute, unbelievable listening skills . . . until he and I got in the car to go home. It started with a conversation about screen time. I knew he had seen more than his usual one short episode a day. As a special treat, this was fine with me. In fact, two episodes as a special treat was fine, but then my son asked about getting his normal screen time when he got home.
His question took me by surprise. It seemed logical to me that his screen time was done, but he felt differently. Because I hadn’t told him the new situation in advance, he felt he was owed more time. I didn’t. I could tell we were at loggerheads as he dissolved into tears.
In spite of the tears, I decided to start driving until it occured I had a choice: continue driving or pull over. The efficient side of me cheered me on to keep driving, but the more compassionate side of me said to stop.
“Do you want me to pull over?” I asked my son.
“It’s your choice,” he pushed out through sobs.
I thought, Did I really need to get home that quickly? Was it all that important? Really, what was more important that creating connection with my son?
I pulled over, turned off the car, and crawled into the back seat. Then, I unclipped my son from his booster seat and gently pulled him into my lap.
“It’s not fair,” he wailed. I nodded. I got it. If I had been the kid, I would have agreed. In this situation, I knew empathy was key.
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Unlike my son, I get to bring the adult me and the child me to the situation.
I told him this. The child I used to be got it. It was unfair the rules had changed. The adult me knew that he’d had enough screen time; he didn’t need anymore. Once he heard that perspective, I asked if he could understand my adult perspective. He had.
I continued to hold him. Our bodies softened together. The sobs had quieted.
I made a peace offering.
He had earned extra video the day before by doing some non-chore work around the house. I agreed to let him see that 10 minutes. I also made sure he got we were a team in this. He needed to remember that future video at friend’s houses qualified as video time. I needed to remember to tell him this. Together, we’d figure this out.
A meta conversation was present.
In many ways, this wasn’t about screen time at all. He’d had a new experience at his auntie’s house—first time to spend the night there—and he was on the other side of an exciting experience. Quite simply, he was exhausted from such an intense—and awesome—new experience. Furthermore, I suspected he wanted to reconnect somehow even through adversity, but he didn’t know how.
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My takeaways:
1. Sometimes it’s better to stop the car and connect with your child rather than soldier on. More connection is usually always better than disconnection.
2. Intense new experiences can be wonderful and exhausting. Crankiness can ensue. Often it’s not about the situation at hand, but the overall intensity of a situation that has just finished.
3. Empathy is always key. I’m fine with letting my son know the child in me understands what he’s going through while the adult in me continues to set boundaries.
4. Meltdowns are often an opportunity for more emotional intelligence. I was able to name some of his feelings as well as my own. He got that I listened to him, and when he was ready, he was able to listen to me. Having listened to one another, more possibilities opened up.
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How are we raising our boys right? By stopping and listening. By recognizing a meltdown is sometimes not about a child being bratty or spoiled; it’s about an underlying need that’s not being met. It’s knowing emotional intelligence comes from showing your boy (or any child) you’re listening, you’re not afraid of their emotions, and they can have big emotions with you as their rock. And listening. I model listening for my son, and as he calmed down, he listened to me. It is in those pauses and silence that the connection becomes solid and filled with trust. It is in those moments, I know I’m raising my son right.
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Photo credit: Getty Images
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