The Day I Let My Son Play With His Poo

On October 25, 2012 our family of 5 moved into the home of my open-armed in laws. I remember the date because I forced myself to choose a deadline knowing my powers of procrastination would have otherwise won.  We were in a tough position in life and made a calculated move. Aaron (my husband) was going on a year of unsuccessful job hunting, we were running out of time, out of money, and figured that when he found work it would likely require a move anyway! Might as well put the house on the market without the pressure to accept the first bid. It. Was. Stressful. I cried. A lot. I am not a crier. 

But I was more concerned about my children and their adjustment.

The funny thing about children is their combination of resiliency and an inability to articulate emotion. I was most concerned with the almost 6year old who would have to switch schools. She seemed to ease into the change. It was the 3-year-old's sudden behavior changes that caught us by surprise. I am sure the screaming, waking, poo playing, pee accidents were just an outward expression of his inner turmoil and inability to adjust. I mean, he had a lot on his plate! At one point his main caretaker (me) was working 40+ hours a week outside the home (from 0) and while most of those were at night, my napping, his shift in caretakers, my depression, his daddy's stress and the million of other factors must have been weighing on his poor little heart. 

So it was with this platform that Joel started to play with his poop. I know kids do this sometimes but if he had prior to the move, it was maybe once. Poo play is gross of course and completely socially unacceptable. I felt pressure from inward and outward to nip the behavior in the butt. (Hahahaha) 

Now, if you know Joel, you will know that the boy does what he wants. He has this amazing ability to not be affected by most consequences I can conjure up. He is his own person and will determine his own outcome. (We should begin saving now for my mental health hospitalizations to come when he hits puberty.) If he wanted to play his poo, he was going to.

And that is when I got the idea. I would let him. It went something like this: 

"Joel, you can play with your poo whenever you want to."

Disbelief.

"You just need to tell me you want to and I will go get you one of these gloves to wear so the germs don't get on your hands."

Now I know most of you are still cringing or gagging but People, it worked. The boy asked a total of 3 times during the next few weeks. He put on the glove, did whatever he did to gather his poo (I did to stay to watch), played with it and called me to help him dispose of the latex miracle afterward. That was it. He was done. 

Allowing him to play with the poo seemed to suck the power from the behavior and he moved on. It was wonderful. I think this is called removing the power struggle or maybe working with the resistance. Whatever it is, it was brilliant and for the life of me I can't seem to recreate the situation again in other applications! Ahhhhhhhh

Pin

Pizza box holds cupcakes.

I need links for Pinterest

Katie's loft bed

Think of Life Like a Novel

How is yours narrated? 

I prefer to view life from both a first and third person perspective. I find it useful in dealing with perceptions, realities (yes, plural) and mostly in self checks and balances. 

First person is the mode I spend most of my life in. It is life through my eyes and when thoughts form words, it kind of sounds like a teenage girl whining. Hahaha. Just kidding!

I imagine third person to be my wiser self or a neutral third (coincidence?) party floating above me looking down. Or perhaps watching a movie of my life. What does this person see? This person takes in a much bigger picture than MY perception allows. This is why I find consulting with her to be helpful in all sorts of situations.

For example, yesterday ended with a full hour (exaggeration?) of my grumping at my son and ultimately taking off part of his cardboard house's window ("tearing apart our creation" sounds so much more emotionally abusive). Go ahead and judge, it wasn't my finest hour (but know I did warn him first and it wasn't done in front of him or in a fit of rage or the like). I was feeling pretty miserable myself... ate some candy to confirm that. I love that boy dearly and in my quest to get through to him!!!!! I went too far. That sick feeling in your chest? Knowing you hurt a cherished child? Yuck. First person.

Third person. Well, that was pretty crappy. The extreme action did not produce a positive change in observable behavior (thus far) and that poor little boy has his heart broken. But she is a good mom and he knows she loves  him. They have enough positive deposits in the bank to cover this withdrawal. Tomorrow is a new day, I hope they both forgive and move on to better things.

Wow. Third person is a lot more tolerable than first person!

Let's look at family dysfunction as an example. 

It seems that no matter how old one becomes, returning home rewinds time and suddenly you are that 5, 7 or 12-year-old again. Take a deep breath, this is normal. Take a deeper one, it is uber difficult to overcome. The roles we are assigned in Family of Origin are ingrained, and hard to break. It can leave each puppet feeling trapped. But step back/up/aside into  third person. Third person sees the dysfunction for what it is. She (my third person is female, what about yours?) recognizes that EACH person plays a role in keeping each other person trapped in their assignment. Third person sees the triangulation, defense mechanisms, unfair fighting techniques, addictive behavior traits, victimization, and on and on. And third person sees how they all intertwine to create the liveliest Thanksgiving Dinner you swear you will never attend again (until you do). 

Perhaps most important to long-term progression, third person points her finger at me too. She can see how maybe I do toss out the Victim Card a little too quickly when I suspect I was wrong. And how I tend to talk first to the people I know will agree with me. She takes note of the individuals teaming against another that I allow when it is in my favor and... well, that is about it, that is all the dysfunction my subconscious is allowing awareness of tonight. But third person doesn't judge. There is no positive purpose or progression in judging. Third person just notates. She also flys next door and notes the exact same stuff happening over there as well.

I think we all need third person! She is a welcomed guest to place things into proper perspective or help with self reflection! Maybe she can't write the whole novel of your life, but perhaps she could get a paragraph or two at the conclusion of each chapter. Huh? How about it? Give her a try. How does third person see the events in your life today?

[Don't do Third Person well? That is okay, there are these great people I know called therapists. They can help you out. :-)]

Shopping with children = ice cream. Life of Pi style

Shopping with children = ice cream. Life of Pi style

Today's post is about how shopping with children will get you ice cream. Let's examine how this strange phenomenon happens. You decide which one really happened. 

Scenario 1

2/3 of the children you have dragged through the store coordinate a plan of attack - displaying their sharpe intelligence - that results in half a display displayed on the floor. This is the end of your rope and in a fit of desperation you grab a box of ice cream sandwiches and promise a reward if they will just hold onto the cart! You swear off grocery shopping with kids ever again. Oh, and later you realize the baby took bites of an apple while she sat quietly in the cart. But hey, at least she was quiet.

Scenario 2

At the start of your trip your only son announces he (Batman) "will help the ladies" and he opens the door for another shopper. Your oldest and youngest play together in the cart and their laughs of joy bring smile after smile to your face. It is one of those chunks of hours where everything is beautiful and you feel so blessed to be a parent. The trip home involves ice cream and song.

Scenario 3

The older off spring spend much of their time working up a sweaty running up and down the aisles. Sure, you "yell" once or twice or five times when they go out of sight but it is pretty funny to see them playing so well together. The baby turns herself around in the cart and seems thrilled by being able to see where all are going. At check out an elderly man stops you and says, "Maybe you can help me." He goes on to explain that he is traveling and can't possibly eat all 12 of these ice cream sandwiches. He opens the box, removes 4 and you accept the rest. On the way home, you figure the man saw how awesome you and the kids were and wanted to reward you guys.

So what do you think? :-)

Flowers for Rebecca

I don't know why this experience came to mind recently so I don't know where 
this blog post is headed, but I want to write about it. Care to go on this 
adventure with me? Some of it is painful.

I was 19, away from home at college and not feeling too great about myself. 
Truth was, prior to leaving FL to finish my bachelor's in UT, I was pretty 
popular with the boys. Cute, sassy, hard-to-get, blond, just needy enough and 
intelligent. Well, within my first semester at BYU things changed and I suddenly 
felt out of place, out of sorts, uncomfortable in my own skin and grumpy.

The event in speculation was a social gathering at a ward member's apartment. It 
was packed. Like, nearly uncomfortably so. Mingling, drinking (need I say "of 
punch"?), laughing, the works. At some point I sat down next to a gal in the 
middle of the love seat leaving enough space for another warm body. And I 
waited. I waited a while. I waited so long that my cynical self turned the 
situation into a negative self-affirming social experiment.

Turning to the girl next to me, I pointed out that in this very crowded room, no 
one was sitting next to me. I said, "I bet that if you switch seats with me, 
someone will sit down next to you." She and her friends gave immediate, "Na-uh"s 
and "No way"s but she obliged, placing herself in the middle between me and an 
empty spot. And in a scene fit for the screen, in less than 15 seconds, some 
tall blond kid plopped himself right down next to her! You could see the jaws 
drop of her and her girlfriends. You could sense the tension. He could too. I 
got up and left.

I am sure most of you know exactly what I did. I went back to my apartment 
feeling horrible and sorry for myself. I cried a ugly cry and spilled the story 
to my roommates (bless their hearts, I had such wonderful roommates). Because 
what had I done? I set myself up to feel awful. I chose to take a neutral 
situation and apply horrendous meaning to it.

Fast forward to the next day. I get home from school to find that I have been 
sent flowers. First flowers ever (as an adult that didn't come from a family 
member). They were colorful and full. Attached was a card. If I have saved it, I 
don't know where it is. I wish I could recall what was written and what the poor 
kid's name was. It was an apology note. The tall blond worded it in such a way 
as to bring some peace to my mind but not make me think he was madly in love 
with me. Who knows, maybe a girl helped him. :-) 

But it was healing.

I toss this experience around in my mind from a dozen different angles. I think 
about the miserable girl who no one wanted to sit next to because she probably 
looked like a miserable person to speak to! I think of all the people who had no 
responsibility to me and my pain. I think of how much of a victim I let myself 
be. I think of those other girls and their jaws dropping open. I think about how 
even in this situation, I still savored being right. :-) I think about what I 
can give my own daughters to guard against being in that state of mind to start 
with and what I would like to see them do if no one sits next to them on a 
couch. And I think of that boy, just as much a innocent bystander as anyone 
else. He owed me no apology or flowers yet he chose to take a risk (for all he 
knew I was psycho crazy, not just sad) and extend part of himself to me. I don't 
think the kid had any real responsibility to me in this scenario, but he had 
been placed there and sought to make it right. I respect that. I think of my son 
and how I would be proud to have him respond in such a manner when it would be 
so easy to simply feel awkward and ignore the other person from there on out. I 
think about what I can do now to instill a caring and love of others so that he 
would feel the desire to help heal another's wounds, but not take on their pain. 
And I lack a magic answer but I am sure it has something to do with Christ.