The Dandelion lesson and Bread with Style

Dear J & j,

We plucked this dandelion on our walk the other day. As you can see, all the fluff is missing. Here’s what happened: On our way to the park, you spotted a dandelion. A perfect puffy blossom. You picked it up and said, “I WANT TO GIVE IT TO MAMA.” Okay, but we’re halfway to the park. We can’t turn around now. Let’s go to the park first.

It was windy. You said “NO WIND NO!” And you held your precious fluffstick closer to your body. You crushed the stem with your grip. “NO WIND NO! DADDY! I said NO to the wind!” You were getting more upset. You were trying to save the dandelion for mama. “Daddy! PICK ME UP!” Your knuckles were white and you clenched your fist. You tried your best to protect it.

Now I had to choose which lesson I wanted to teach you: 1) how to protect the dandelion and defy nature, or 2) that’s what nature does, and sometimes you can’t have what you want.

I chose 2), because it was a more useful lesson for real life (and it happened to be easier at that time — I was pushing your bike with one hand and wrangling the beast with the other). So we kept walking to the park, and each gust of wind tugged another piece of fluff. I kept reassuring you that it was Okay. That’s what happens when the wind blows. And I directed your attention to how pretty they are when they fly away. Eventually, there was nothing left but a limp stem and the core. You said, “DADDY WHAT HAPPENED TO THIS?” I said the wind blew away the White. And that it’s okay. You gave me a “whatever” look and pushed it away and went to play.

We saved whatever was left of it and brought it all the way back home from the park. But you didn’t want anything to do with it anymore. You didn’t like how it looked. I insisted you gave it to Mama. “Mama, here!” She hugged you tight and thanked you. I told her the whole story and she said it was pretty with teary eyes. She saved it with the other things you have given her that could only look pretty to a mom.

Oof. It’s getting tougher with the two of you. I’ve taken over the morning routine and dropping you off. Sometimes I pick you up too. And as soon as I get home, we usually go for a walk or to the park… with Kimi being her beastly self, tugging and pulling. Then it’s back home for dinner time, than I take you through potty time and bath time while mama takes J2.

What makes it tough is that no is now your favorite word. So you refuse each step of the way. So every step is bare-knuckle persuasion battle. Like in the movie Boiler Room, they say there is no such thing as “no sale”. Selling is done on every interaction. Either I sell you on our routine, or you sell me on some reason you can’t.

Thankfully, I am still bigger than you, so I always have the last option of physically moving you, but that usually ends in a huge tantrum. And I’m a long-term kind of person, so I’d rather invest in planting a seed that helps it go on autopilot eventually, rather than jackhammer through walls all the time.

Still, I’ve fallen asleep on the couch in your room a number of times now… as well as the floor, the hallway, the living room… without my knowledge mind you.

Today’s learning/persuasion tip: you learn better when you teach someone… WITH STYLE.

It’s never easy to get you to eat things that don’t naturally flood your brain with happy feelings; such as veggies or meat. So we can use blunt force to smash them into you, or we could be clever…

Last night, mama put J2 in the car seat next to the dinner table. She stared at you, and you were excited about that. I smelled a weakness so I pounced, “Can you show J2 how you eat Spinach and you get Bread?”

That was the deal. To get Bread, you eat something good first, like Spinach. But that alone wasn’t too motivating. Your excitement about teaching your sister something and being a big brother was stronger.

(The effect at play here is Cognitive Dissonance. When you teach someone, you commit yourself to the idea that you’re someone who is “good at this”, because you tell yourself you must be good at it if you’re teaching it. As a result, you start behaving as someone who’s “good at this.” So if you ever want to do something better, or make a habit stick, teach it to someone.)

Anyway, I spun over to the counter, picked up a piece of bread, then did a slide across the floor back to you. “DADDY! WHAT DID YOU DO?” Mama joked, “Daddy gave you bread with STYLE.” You chuckled. I went to wash the dishes. When you were done with your piece, you asked mama, “Mama, I need bread! WITH STYLE!” And so you now want everything WITH STYLE. We even went to bath time with style — you walked sideways down the hallway like a crab.

If you get stuck, change something.

For some reason, you love making Kimi bark at you. You chase her around, kick her, hit her, etc. There are some violent kids at your school, which I’ll tell you about later. So it’s possible you’re copying their behavior.

We try to tell you no, explain consequences, but you just can’t help yourself. Reward or punishment, no good. Doesn’t stick. Too abstract. It’s like getting smokers to quit – it’s not that they don’t know that it’s bad, or that it’s killing them, or that the rewards are fantastic. It’s about habits and the fact that the reward is too intangible.

So, same deal. The trick is not to oppose the existing behavior, but to create a new one that bypasses it. And to use substitute rewards that are more tangible right here and now.

Human nature lesson: Patterns are more powerful than knowledge, reward or punishment.

What did we do? I showed you how to do tricks with Kimi. I placed a treat in your hand, put that hand behind your back, raised your other hand up, and said “HI FIVE!” Kimi tapped it, you loved it, and you got more excited about that than about hitting her.

And here’s another one where I got you interested in making sounds by throwing sand at a pole and at an empty plastic bottle instead of at Kimi:

It was Father’s day last Sunday.

You gave me this.

It was more crowded than usual at the park. Suddenly, dads I’ve never seen before were out. They played frisbee, football, shouting, laughing, trying to be good dads for a day. I didn’t ask any of them their names. I knew I wasn’t going to see them again.

Conversations versus a 2-year old

After seeing a train go by, I said, “One day, we’ll go ride on the train.” You said, “OKAY! I WANT TO RIDE TO THE TRAIN STATION!” Everything is an adventure.

Sometimes, I don’t understand what you’re saying. You tell me, “What are you saying daddy? You said the wrong thing.” I say, “I’m saying what you’re saying.” This goes on for a few minutes, and sometimes I get it right, and you say, “Did you say the right thing?” Yes, I did.

I say, “I’ll be right back.” That’s a pretty handy concept for you to grasp. Because you won’t freak out each time I leave the room. But when you leave the room, you say, “I’ll be back right.”

You must have learned this one at school somehow. With the train set Abu gave you before she left, we said the last one is the red one. To which you replied, “No mama it’s not a red train, it’s the CABOOSE!”

You scream when I come through the door after work. I feel like a rock star. That’s a feeling like nothing else, and something people without children miss out on. The pure happiness of a child happy to see his or her parent. I really think that it is the absence of these natural feelings (as a result of delayed adulthood, marriage, more emphasis on career vs family, etc) that cause people to seek out other forms of gratification. But of course, nothing else comes close, and nothing is as healthy, so it’s like an addiction to an artificial drug when people chase status or climb ladders.

Spring roll story. We ordered takeout from a Vietnamese place for dinner and I gave you the last spring roll (I didn’t get to have any). So I tried to ask you for a bite. You liked it too much and so you refused. I tried my hardest to get just one bite. I said I don’t have one. You suggested I ate your carrots instead. I insisted. You offered me your rice. You tried every alternative you could think of to give me.

You were conflicted. You said, “If I eat the spring roll, daddy will be sad.” You didn’t want me to be sad. But you clutched the greasy roll to your cheek and said it was yours. You said I could have one tomorrow. I said we have no more for tomorrow – you have the last one. Finally, I let you have it and said it’s okay, you can eat it. It was worth a shot and I thought a good conversation to have.

Then you surprised me. After a few bites, you asked, “Daddy, are you happy if you eat spring roll?” I said Yes. You thought a bit, then said, “HERE DADDY! TAKE IT ALL!” And you gave me the rest. I didn’t really want the spring roll, I wanted you to enjoy it. So I said “I want to share with you”, and I gave it back. You ate the whole thing, but as you were chewing the last piece, you took half of it from your mouth and shoved it in mine.

“Daddy, are you happy?” Yes. I clapped my hands. I am happy when you share with me.

j – you’re sleeping more soundly now. It gives Mama’s catching up on sleep. Tonight I was just laying next to you staring. You had a pink shirt with 3 kitty cats on it. I’ve never seen as much pink in my whole life as there is in your closet. It’s cool how you are girlier in every way compared to your brother, even though you’re only one month old. Like the way you cry, the sounds you make, how you move more gracefully, or your delicate features.

J really loves you. He gets excited when he gets to interact with you. When you first came home, J might have felt excluded because you were a delicate thing he couldn’t play with. But he has a better grasp of his stature now. When you look at him, he yells, “She’s looking at me! MAMA! She’s LOOKING AT ME! DADDY! LOOK! SHE’S LOOKING AT ME!” He really loves you and he loves being your big brother.

You’re like a doll, j. A doll with an unusually long attention span, apparently. Mama said she was playing with you and you were focusing and tracking with your eyes and hands for 20 minutes.

Mama’s back on her slow carb diet and exercising again. This also means she gets a cheat day on Saturday where she gets to eat anything. I’m not on that diet, but I have no shame joining her for cheat day 🙂 The diet also allows her to have a glass of wine at night. Finally! I’ve been waiting to drink with her for over a year. It’s lonely drinking alone. It’s been a while… with the pregnancy and then the breastfeeding thing. But for a week now, we’ve had the corkscrew, wine glass and wine all ready on my desk to enjoy between j’s feeds. But we haven’t even popped the bottle because she has always falls asleep before we get a chance.

This week, I sent an email to your mom, titled “I’m troubled…”:

I looked into the eyes of the Demon Saul (not his real name) this morning and I’m troubled. I don’t know what his parents are doing, but they are raising a psychopath.

I saw the whole thing unfold. I was saying bye to J and passed him to Ms Marissa. Then on the circle carpet, I see Keith bending over to play with a car. Saul crawled over to his back, put his arms around his body and BIT HIM! Poor Keith cried in pain.

I said no biting! Ms Marissa went over to pull Saul away, and then I saw Saul’s eyes as he looked up.

No remorse. Surprised at Ms Marissa for pulling him away. He explained calmly: “I’m getting blood.” Usually a kid who knows it’s wrong will react strongly, maybe throw a tantrum, maybe say “No! Don’t tell me I cannot” or “I want to” or come up with some story like, “But I didn’t bite hard.” Not this one. Just a cold, blank stare.

I’m thinking he must have zero parenting at home. He’s probably raised by TV. Probably not even TV meant for kids. Which means he’s probably with an adult who babysits him by making him watch what he (or she) watches. Like vampire movies.

Before that, when I got there, Jake and Saul were already on the circle carpet away from everyone. Because they were stabbing the other kids with their toy scissors.

Keith didn’t show up at school the next day. Demon Saul did. We try to keep you safe, but you have to go out into the world eventually. This is our struggle.

You were a sleepyhead this morning: You woke up, called me, so your mom woke ME up, and when I got there, you went back to sleep:

… so I said ah what the hell and got myself ready first.

Then you helped me pack lunch: white tortilla sandwich (I snuck some chicken in and smashed it into the sour cream so you won’t notice). And I showed you how to pluck grapes from the stick (that’s where they come from):

This made you so excited about lunch that you didn’t want to eat breakfast. That’s the problem sometimes — one trick can work so well it backfires by making something else more difficult. I said you had to wait, so you went to school without eating breakfast. Good thing they had snack at school when we arrived.

Abu went home the other day. We talked about it and you seemed to understand:

This is the train set she gave you before she left (it’s your new favorite toy):

Few more notable moments: drawing circles in the sand (your first time drawing in the sand!). A week ago, you didn’t even like getting sand in your shoes.: