Living peacefully with your Four-Year-Old

I find in parenting I need to keep using what I learned during birth. In labor, when a new phase came, it took a while to figure out how to deal with it. I would be laboring, coping with contractions, and then it felt like they suddenly changed. They became unbearable, and nothing I was doing helped at all.

Now, in parenting, I find that when we develop patterns of whining and misbehaviour, (or parental frustration and anger) when our usual strategies stop working and we just can't seem to catch our rhythm or get along, it often means we're growing! It takes observing ourselves and one another, praying for wisdom and cooperating to figure out how to live together as we grow.
Recently, we were having fits of aggravating the younger brother, misuse of tools, snitching things and denying it, total lack of cooperation in basic things like getting dressed; you know what I'm talking about?

My normal avenues of eliciting cooperation, as well as discipline tactics just weren't working the way they had. Things felt off.
I told Paul and a few friends that something was up and I couldn't figure it out. I wasn't sure if he needed better-set boundaries, or more attention, or it was just a phase, or what? (it's so helpful to know that sometimes things are just hard and there's not way around it.) When we're having troubles I am reminded to pray, to ask for help. I like to make sure the kids know how much we love them in times of conflict; we need extra assurance of love when we're rubbing wrong against one another.

The breakthrough came when Paul commented to me that he noticed misbehavior seemed to happen when our Little Bear had an idea for something he wanted to do. He would do his plan, but not in a sanctioned way; like by taking something he had been told not to, and doing something he wasn't supposed to do with it. Frequently with scissors. I have learned from Montessori that when children disobey, they need more freedom. This does not mean that we don't expect good behavior, but that often lack of freedom drives misbehavior, so Paul's comment really rang a bell. I spent a day observing myself and Little Bear as I pondered this.

Then I talked about it with Little Bear. He agreed that he was bored and had a lot of ideas, and also that things hadn't been going very well lately and that we'd been having a hard time listening and getting along. I shared with him that I do expect him to listen to me, but also that I want to listen to him. And I told him he was ready for his Own Scissors. We worked together to find a place for the scissors where he could get them, but his little brother couldn't. We discussed some very concrete rules for use of the scissors. We discussed consequences for not following those rules. Then I helped him make a special box to keep them in, and signs saying that they were just for him. Ooh, was this fun! He spent all day doing projects with the scissors, and put them away after each use. He had a lot of things he had been waiting to do with them!

Our other problems dissolved. The scissors were the key that unlocked the door to our new phase. Our Little Bear has a lot of good ideas and needs the freedom to do them on his own. He was bored!
Along with the scissors, I found there were lots of areas where I was underestimating him, doing for him what he could do for himself, expecting too little, not too much, and controlling rather than equipping him to handle new levels of responsibility. For, with freedom comes responsibility. Along with the scissors came some new chores and a renewal of our expectations of one another. I hadn't meant to be controlling him, he'd just grown into some things he couldn't have handled and didn't need to a few months ago. Along with greater understanding came new tactics and peace.

I must note that not all of the scissor rules were followed. A few days after the debut of his Very Own Scissors, I found a little brother with a new albeit minor haircut and a new spool of ribbon cut to pieces. There were consequences, kind of big ones, and a lot of tears. Not getting to use his Very Own Scissors for Four Whole Days was rather agonizing, but he accepted it as just, though sad, and has lived up to the new responsibility even better since then. The brief reprisal of privileges didn't undo our new mutual esteem or the advance of four-year-old liberty in our house a bit.

Happy Birthday, Little Bear!

Gibbie's birthday, clearly, was a big big event in our house. Ezra, throughout the day, sings to himself, "Happy Birthday, dear Little Bear..." (see "the show" for the reference.) We also had a special birthday visit from our dear Grammers, pictured above.
And here is Gibbie, showing off the new light he received as a much-appreciated gift from his Grandpa Bill. He is planning to use it to "look for the dark slugs in my garden, at night." With a few tantalizing garden gifts, plans for the garden are kicking into high gear. I'm putting together my seed order. Gibbie is planning a garden of his own. It will be, according to plan thus far, a new garden, in the grass, with logs around it, painted black. He has made signs to label his plants and four useful warning signs which each read, "no dogs out loud." So much fun.

Our trip to Children's Hospital

We've all had a cold going around. Gibbie had a screaming ear infection. Paul and Ezra and I had sore throats. It seemed we were all getting better, but then Ezra got worse. It changed from sleeping a lot and coughing miserably to complete listlessness and shallow breathing. I consulted with our doctor/ friend/ neighbor who said it looked and sounded like he had pneumonia. We went in to the clinic, where everyone was very concerned. The doctor had a great bedside manner. He was quiet and watched Ezra intently. They did xrays and checked the levels of oxygen in his blood, which weren't high enough for peace of mind.
He gently explained that Ezra would probably do fine at home, but that labored breathing is very tiring for children and advised that we head down to Children's Hospital "very quickly."
I've not had many emergency room experiences, but they seem to normally entail a lot of waiting. Boy, did they whisk him into a room quickly!
He was so tired and had so little energy that he barely protested anything they did. It's strange-- I'm used to having full control over every little thing that happens with my little ones (I know you laugh, parents of older children!) but in the hospital, they don't ask permission for everything--you've given permission for them to treat and they largely just tell you what they are doing, if there is time.
Pretty soon we were given a private room. Ezra slept and nursed and I watched as his oxygen levels rose reassuringly. It was rather peaceful. About two dozen people came and went, all nicely explaining things and trying to examine him without scaring him; there were just so many different people! The whole experience was completely new to me, and made me realize how healthy and fortunate we have been. No one in my immediate family was ever hospitalized, and my kids were born at home, so my only hospital experiences had been as a brief visitor. I noticed a piece of equipment in our room donated in honor of a child cancer survivor, and paid silent homage to children and parents who have spent so much time in those rooms.
I noticed at one point, everyone who came into the room suddenly had on a face mask and smock. I guess they had to because of an alert put on our room for risk of whooping cough contagion. (for any worrier-readers, be assured; ezra doesn't have whooping cough.)
Our room had a lovely view of the Cathedral and the James J. Hill house, and some lovely sunshine; familiar sights which somehow made me feel more grounded. I just love seeing the Cathedral with it's cross atop all lit up reassuringly at night, as if to say, "there's still a light on here."
It seemed like an age passed before morning came, but bit by bit, especially after he woke up and had some juice, Ezra started to perk up. He told me at one point that there was a lion-cat going around the room and had some other diverting news, which I think was his way of entertaining himself.
He wished to see papa, and Opa, and Gibbie, and mused that maybe Opa would come to Ezra's next birthday dressed up in a Lion costume! Of course, he desperately wanted all his tubes off. Not long after Paul arrived, he was joking around.
Many thanks to everyone who prayed and sent supportive thoughts and phone calls, to Oma for taking Gibbie in the morning, Opa for lunch, Dave for the cheering visit and thoughful gifts of food and elephant. Special thanks to Super Wendy for being so great about everything; medical help, childcare, car-sharing, kid-made cards, Ezra-delighting gift, and the delicious follow-up recovery meal!
Paul commented that, if I didn't have any complaints, Children's must be a stellar hospital. I must say, as one who has gone to some length to avoid contact with hospitals, Ezra was treated with great respect and care. It was more welcoming than I thought a trip to the hospital could be.
As to any lingering concerns, Ezra is "out of the woods," breathing quite normally, and generally running and jumping around the house as though he had never done otherwise. (though we plan on staying nested in here, recuperating for a while to get completely well.) He said when questioned that he liked his tubes, which I'm quite certain he did not at the time. I think during the miserable parts he was so hazy he doesn't remember them; his most vivid recollection so far is the fun "cat, chick-egg bandaid" (garfield, for the rest of us) they gave him when they took out his IV. Thank God for health and healing. Thank God for friends and family. We have so much to be thankful for.

Gibbie Says...

Papa, you are a shining light inside the snow.

Poetry for the weary pilgrim

My Lord, I have no clothes to come to thee;
My shoes are pierced and broken with the road;
I am torn and weathered, wounded with the goad,
And soiled with tugging at my weary load:
The more I need thee! A very prodigal
I stagger into thy presence, Lord of me:
One look, my Christ, and at thy feet I fall!

George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul


Sorry to any friends whose calls we have not returned. We have been knocked off our feet by a little virus, and life in general. (The question was "Raising sputum?" and the answer, sadly, was "Yes!") Thanks to Natalie for cleaning our house--she even cleaned the dreaded corner back behind the nursing couch! And thanks to Becky, for taking care of me and the kids with fevers last Sunday. And thanks to Myra and Doug for everything. And thanks to Lacy for special prayer help.

We are returning to health, and trying to get back into a rhythm where we can perform all basic functions again, so don't worry, but thanks for all your prayers. We have lots of things we are hoping to share soon. Much love, all of us.

Why do we take so long returning phone calls?

Rest assured, they are all better now. No, he's not a neglected orphan waiting for a new family. Our never-sick Ezra came down with something. A virus, a fever, an ear infection, thrush, a cough, and puffy, red, goopy eyes.


Before I had kids, I thought I would never let anyone in my family have snot on their face. Ever. I mean, why not just wipe it off?
It's because when the kid's already miserable, and liquids and semi-solids are pouring forth ceaselessly, a tender mama and papa just may not have the heart to attack his little face with the hankercheif again right now. It may only get wiped away periodically.
He spiked a fever of 103.9--luckily there was a doctor in the house (and more than one next door!) to assure and assist us.
Once again rested and well, thankfulness for all our working parts is renewed. We are so grateful.