Have you ever had a moment when your child has pushed your buttons and instead of pausing and getting the full story you have reacted and commanded? I know I have! I clearly remember an afternoon shortly after we completed the renovation on home when I reacted rather than responding. I regret it to this day.
One of the most agonising choices we had to make during the renovation process, was what to put on the patio and around the pool. We went with sandstone. It was safe for the kids to run on and it looked fantastic. It was going to be a nightmare to keep clean and was way out of our budget, but it was worth it!
On the awful day in question, about two weeks after the project was complete, I arrived home from the shops to find a great big patch of white enamel paint on the newly laid sandstone.
My first question was “Who?” It didn’t take more than a few seconds to find the culprit. It was my creative child. So, without a pause, I reacted, I commanded, and I might have screamed and shouted and behaved like an out of control three year-old – like the ones in my Crocodiles and Computers blog.
Instead asking questions and working out what actually happened, I went straight to my version: The child in question had decided to do something creative that even Picasso would be proud of and hadn’t bothered to put down anything to protect my precious sandstone.
What I discovered later -after my tantrum, after I had caused damage to the relationship with my child- was that as an Asthmatic, she had decided to get fit and at the age of 7, the most appropriate dumbbell, if you don’t have one is a 5 litre can of white enamel paint with it’s lid not properly secured.
In the bath I found a very sad little girl, covered in white enamel paint. Her hair was matted with wads of paint, her eyebrows were white and sticky, and her skin was red from scrubbing.
But still I didn’t pause, still I responded and commanded, still I did damage to our relationship and her overwhelmed soul. Instead of gently helping her clean off the paint, I lectured her about how silly it was to use paint as a dumbbell and how much damage she’d caused to the sandstone.
Oh, how I wish I could do that moment over. If only I had paused, if only I had taken a deep breath, if only I had prioritised my relationship with my little girl rather than the temporary beautiful sandstone. If only I had chosen to respond and connect rather than reacting and commanding.
So, the next time your child pushes your buttons, please take a page out of my not-so-fabulous parenting book and instead of reacting and commanding, take a deep breath and then connect and respond.
