Authors: Alex McCord,Simon van Kempen
Little Kids, Big City: Tales from a Real House in New York City (With Lessons on Life and Love for Your Own Concrete Jungle) (13 page)
Alex
My dad was in the oil business, and around the time I started school he bought several fields in rural southeast Kansas. I spent my school years there and we traveled during vacations. In the oil fields there were lots of fascinating pieces of equipment to play on and with, and although Dad would sometimes explain what the machinery did, more often than not he’d just let me explore. I remember getting filthy on a regular basis, climbing up and down trucks outfitted with all sorts of barrels and pulleys and although they were never far away, I had plenty of room to fall down if I didn’t hold on tight. My parents believed in taking responsibility for your own personal space pretty early on and learning consequences and that is something I’m trying to pass along to my kids. I once found a small snake in the field and brought it in to show Mom, who happened to be washing her hair over the tub at the time. The guilt I felt at her hitting her head on the tap and hurting herself because of me was worse than any time-out, spanking or removal of privileges she could have imposed. Another time I had adopted a small turtle I’d found in the field, and after a few days of feeding and taking care of it, I put him in one of my mother’s handbags. Needless to say he died in there, and it wasn’t necessary to impose an additional punishment. I’d been upset that I thought I’d lost him and couldn’t find him. Then Mom got out that handbag, found the body and had to throw away the purse because the smell had permeated the material. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten the turtle, was responsible for its death and of course the mini-fashionista in me was also upset I’d caused Mom to lose a favorite bag.
I had a moment of déjà vu last year in the kitchen and realized at least part of me has indeed turned into my mother. Johan and François were capering around the kitchen while I made pasta for dinner, and François was in “Let’s badger Mommy” mode. The F-Bomb wanted to put his hands in the pasta water. “No, that’s getting hot.” “Mommy, I want to dooo it, I’m going to dooooooo it.” After about 10 rounds of this, he pulled a chair over next to me and continued the chant down the back of my neck. I could think of a thousand retorts, I could easily scoop him up and put him in his room for a time-out. Maybe not this time. He had been playing this game pretty much any time a pot was on the stove, and we were all getting sick of it and this time I was sure that the water was hot enough to shock without scalding him. In anticipation of him plunging his hand in, I turned the flame off, reached over to the freezer, got out an ice pack and stepped aside. François looked at me, looked at the water, looked at me again and put a finger in. A second later he was on the counter with his ice pack and a piece of ice to suck on for good measure. I’m still not 100 percent sure whether a similar experience happened to me as a kid or whether I had a dream that I would do this someday, who knows. In any case, François has never done it again.
While writing this paragraph a short person begins breathing down my neck…
François: Why did I want to stick my hands in boiling water?Alex: Very good question—I think because I told you not toFrançois: Why did you let me do it?Alex: Because you kept asking and wouldn’t stop!François: Can I put my hands in boiling water now?Alex: Sure go ahead You’ll need to boil some first. Want me to help you?François: HAHAHAHHAHA Mommy (Runs away cackling maniacally )
Simon
Having grown up in a single-parent household, my mum was the only parent available for discipline. Sometimes there’d be times where, rightly or wrongly, one of my two brothers or I would be a little too much of a handful for my mum to discipline. Accordingly there were occasions when she enlisted the aid of a family friend, an honorary uncle. And thus we came to learn about “Captain Thunderbolt” the large, wizened and calloused right hand of said uncle. This right hand, whose palm would very occasionally be whipped across my clothed buttocks, was named after Fred Ward, a Bushranger renowned for committing over 200 crimes in six and a half years across the northern part of New South Wales, where we were living at the time.
Both François and Johan have also learned to be wary of “Captain Thunderbolt” and the mere mention of his name particularly when my palm is held upright, provides sufficient warning to them to stop their concurrent transgression.
Alex
Probably the hardest disciplinary thing for me as a parent is consistency. Simon and I have different levels of tolerance for noise, running and flailing, and sometimes we butt heads over where the line in the sand should be. If I’m copywriting or designing something on my laptop, the world can literally be ending around the desk and I’ll keep on going. It’s the same for Simon if he’s dialed into the hotel from his PC. Actually, when either one of us is working from home on the computer, the kids could be stringing up the cats on a spit and we wouldn’t notice. The temporarily-disconnected-from-the-computer parent is typically trying to do laundry, tidy up the kitchen, organize paperwork or something generally not fun and tends to resent the parent on the computer. I’m particularly guilty of this and wind up with a much shorter fuse than normal for boyish behavior.
Bear Cubs
Simon
Personally whether at work or at home I could gladly go without exacting discipline, however, it seems that as we learn limits by stretching parameters as far as we are allowed, discipline is required. So whether we fall off after we’ve gone too far or get told off before we’ve fallen, either way we learn. And such is the way with children. From birth they’ve been pushing the limit of their surroundings, which is why many parents buy physical barriers to stop their children falling and injuring themselves. However sometimes a verbal scolding or more is called for and it is in this area where Alex and I most differ as parents. Like many instances of parenting I do think that we each parent in certain ways either because of or despite the way in which we ourselves were parented. I remember when Francois was very young Alex would get annoyed with me if I tried to reason with him when I was trying to stop him doing such and such: “He doesn’t understand. A simple ‘no, don’t do that’ should suffice,” she’d say. As Francois got older slight disagreements would occur, but one thing where we never disagreed was that we wouldn’t air our disagreements about our disciplining in front of the children. If one of us didn’t like the way the other handled something, we’d go along with it at the time and discuss it afterwards.
Alex
As they grow, it’s funny to watch the boys play off one another. If François gets into trouble, the J-Boy will sidle up to me and say, while casting a superior glance at his big brother, “Mommy, I’m being a good boy” or,“
I
don’t need a time out!” Likewise, if François gets fed up with Johan not sharing his toys, he’ll try to send his little brother to his room. Another thing we’ve noticed as they have become better able to communicate is that they’ve both tried lying, as most kids seem to do. I remember from my own childhood that sometimes I lied about silly things because I didn’t want a grown-up to be angry that I’d done, or not done, something. Because of that I’ve relentlessly told the boys to “cop to it,” whatever
it
may be. As they mature I’ve tried to explain to them that lying about something makes it worse, and have at the same time tried to be lenient whenever they bravely tell me about something they’ve screwed up. It’s a work in progress, but I like the progression.
I
don’t need a time out!” Likewise, if François gets fed up with Johan not sharing his toys, he’ll try to send his little brother to his room. Another thing we’ve noticed as they have become better able to communicate is that they’ve both tried lying, as most kids seem to do. I remember from my own childhood that sometimes I lied about silly things because I didn’t want a grown-up to be angry that I’d done, or not done, something. Because of that I’ve relentlessly told the boys to “cop to it,” whatever
it
may be. As they mature I’ve tried to explain to them that lying about something makes it worse, and have at the same time tried to be lenient whenever they bravely tell me about something they’ve screwed up. It’s a work in progress, but I like the progression.
Two Pals in a Tub
Thing : Mommy he hit me!Me: You need to tell your brother “sorry” Right nowThing 2: No, I didn’t hit him.Me: Are you kidding me? I saw you!Thing 2: No, you didn’t.Thing 1: Are you both blind?Me: Simmer down both of you!
TOP 10 THINGS WE NEVER THOUGHT WE WOULD HAVE TO EXPLAIN:10. Why hot pizza stones do not like Legos.9. Why “Im going to chop your feet off” is not an appropriate response to your brother who won
8. Why gluing pages of New York magazine together cannot be undone7. If you stick your hand in a cat’s mouth she will bite it6. If you try to put your parents in time out guess where you end up?5. If you throw your fire engine into the East RiverDaddy is not going in after it.
4. At bedtime if you suddenly announce that your homework isn3. That if you tell your brand new babysitter that Mom and Dad always let you stay up until 10 p.m. and eat ice cream he won’t believe you2. Why you can’t bring your potty out and use it on the floor in the middle of a dinner party. (A certain two year old tried )1. It’s not OK for a kid to call a grown up a mother
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