In other words, he's acting like an asshole.
Most frequently this manifests itself in him telling us that he wants to hurt us. I want to punch you, he'll say, or I want to shoot you. Sometimes he says this mid-tantrum, through sobs, his chest heaving. Other times it's almost playful, scornful, like a dare.
I have a master's degree in Child Development from a respected university. I've read my fair share of parenting books — not to mention those weekly "Your Preschooler This Week" BabyCenter emails. So I know how to respond appropriately in these situations. I know that I'm supposed to remain calm and unruffled and say something like, "I can tell you're really angry right now" or "You must be feeling very upset."
Is that what I actually did this past week? Let's get real. HELL NO.
The other day, when Eli announced that he wanted to punch me, I responded "Then I don't want to be around you" and I closed the bedroom door. And locked it.
I did. I locked my 3-year-old out of my bedroom. Would you want to be around someone who tells you he wants to punch you?
The next time it happened, I promptly burst into tears. Not fake I'm-trying-to-get-you-to-empathize tears but real, frustrated tears, the tears of a woman who wonders where she's gone wrong and why her sweet boy has turned into a sociopath.
"Mommy? Why are you crying?" Eli asked tentatively.
"Because you keep saying you want to punch me and it makes me feel so SAD!" I replied. Eli's lip quivered. Soon he too was wailing.
"Now I'm sad like you!" he cried. "We're both sad!"
The first time he said it, I silently carried him to his room, deposited him on his bed, closed the doors to his room and ordered him to stay in there for three minutes. In other words, a classic time-out. When the timer beeped, he tearfully apologized and vowed that he would never say it again. But "never" is to 3-year-olds what "fact" is to Ben Carson, so...
Of course, in case you hadn't heard, time-outs are now cruel and abusive. I get this in theory: Isolating my child when he's having a hard time sends him the message that it's not OK to be having a hard time and doesn't really help him deal with having a hard time.
On the other hand, theory is a heck of a lot easier than practice, and sometimes in practice isolating myself when my child is having a hard time helps send us both the message that at least no one will get strangled when he's having a hard time.
Later that day, I did what I always do when I've made the wrong parenting decision and want to feel guilty about it: I turned to Google for advice on what I should have done instead. Google confirmed that I was, in fact, the worst mom in the world and that the right reaction would have been to remain calm and unruffled and that is really hard to do when you want to punch a wall, Google.
But what I appreciated was the psychology behind why it's prudent to do this, according to this helpful article: "Your child needs an accepting witness who loves him even when he's angry."
It's fitting that the site is called Aha! Parenting because reading it, I did have an aha! moment. Eli knows I won't want to be around him when he says he wants to punch me. So by isolating him in that situation I really am confirming his worst fears: that he is unlovable, or that I like him only when he's behaving appropriately, or that if he says the worst thing he can think of, I won't love him anymore.
(Aha! I am. The. Worst. Mom. In. The. World.)
I know I'm not the first mom whose kid has said something mean to her. I'm probably not even the first mom who's asked Google, "Is my toddler a sociopath?" Yesterday was the first time that I felt so frustrated and so demoralized that I wasn't even looking forward to going home after work. But when I got there, my stark-naked kid streaked out into the hallway and wrapped his arms around me.
"I'm not going to shoot you," said a muffled voice into my thighs. "I love you."
When Eli was a little younger and he used to cry about going to daycare, I'd sing him a little song to the tune of "The Farmer in the Dell": "I love you all the time, I love you all the time, even when I'm not with you I love you all the time."
The other day, after Eli told me he wanted to kick me and then upped his game by actually trying to kick me, I had my first opportunity to practice what Aha! Parenting preaches. I mustered up all my zen and took a deep breath.
"I know you're so mad that you're feeling like you want to kick me," I said through gritted teeth, "and it's OK to be mad, but it's not OK to kick me."
Deflated, he fell back against the couch and dissolved into wails.
"I love you," I said softly. "I love you all the time."
Let that be my mantra for the days and years ahead: I love you all the time. Even when I want you to get dressed and you put your underwear on your head. Even when you wake me up at 5 a.m. by leaning over my face and loudly requesting a chocolate sandwich and milk. Even when you say you want to shoot me or, God forbid, you learn crueler insults to fling at me. I love you all the time.
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