Parenting With a Man's Logic

Remember when Jeff recommended a parenting book?  Before we all boo Jeff, I was having some bad moments, and I did express that I thought I was bringing up completely irresponsible children. Well, we started the book.  

It was obviously written by men.  You know what I mean.  "You just say this. Then magic will happen.  Every time.  Just stay rational and unemotional."  These men were obviously never left with the full care of their children while their wives were away on a week-long business trip.  That being said, I think there are a few things I could learn, though probably with a mama spin.  Because really, Misters, I don't think you've ever nursed a baby 400 consecutive nights and then had to function the rest of the 400 days with love and logic.  Without coffee.

Sooo, they talk about how we need to let natural consequences of choices occur.  We need to give our children choices of sorts, then let them live with the consequences.  Then you can't be the bad guy, and they learn valuable lessons while "the price tags are still low" (for example, when the consequence is being cold on the bus stop because you wouldn't wear a coat at age 10 vs. defaulting on your car loan and getting it repossessed at age 20). 

I'd like to think I'm good at this, but I can kind of demand control when I don't really need it.  This morning, I had an opportunity to use a little love and logic.

Anna and I were visiting Barb in the nursing home, then going to the mall for lunch and school shoes shopping.  (It's 92 degrees - air-conditioned activities, please).  Anna wanted us to dress up a bit.  She picked a very cute and appropriate sundress.

And flower girl shoes from last summer she found on a shelf in the back of her closet. 

I said something to the effect of, "I think a better choice would be more comfortable shoes."

She insisted on wearing the too-small shoes.

We went to visit Barb.  Anna mentioned a few times that her feet were falling asleep.  I suggested that maybe it was because her shoes were squeezing them.  She said no, that wasn't the reason.  I dropped it.

On the way out to the car she said, "Mom, I think my shoes might be too tight."

In the car, she asked to take them off.

When we got to the mall, she winced putting them back on, and asked if we could go to the shoe store first thing, and could she change right into the new shoes?

In the mall, she hobbled around like a little old lady.  I asked if she would like to stop for lunch first (the place she wanted to eat was in sight and it was between us and the shoe store).  She said, "Mom, I'm not sure if I can make it there." I suggested that maybe she could unbuckle the shoes and kind of wear the shoes like clogs (who cares if they were ruined at this point). 

We made it to the restaurant, and I whispered that she could kick her shoes off under the table.  We had a really nice lunch together.  

She limped down to the shoe store, and I vowed that if I saw one of those carts you can rent for 3 bucks I just might do it so I could wheel the poor kid down there.  

We walked into the shoe store, and simultaneously she grabbed 6 pairs of shoes off the shelf.  The saleslady measured her foot (and of course it was a size bigger than I thought anyway, which made it two sizes bigger than the squeezy flower girl shoes).  When the lady went to try on the first pair of shoes, she looked me straight in the eye and said, "Ma'am, do you know she has a big blister on the back of her foot?"

It was huge.  "Oh, honey that looks like it hurts! It will feel nice to wear new shoes instead, won't it?"  That's what I said.  As if I have a yacht bought with the money I made writing a parenting book. The saleslady said, "Um, those shoes she was wearing were way too small."

I bit my tongue then said,  "Yes, I know." The lady asked another store clerk to get her a band-aid for the blister. At least I had socks with me to try on the shoes, which may have at least partially redeemed my doomed motherhood.

As Anna was trying on shoes I urged her to choose not only for style, but for comfort.  I think she really did.  We bought a pair of gym shoes and a pair to wear with skirts.  Stride Right benefitted from my guilt over the blister today.

Anna thanked me for the shoes when we walked out. She gave me a big hug and told me she loved me.  We had a wonderful afternoon.  She never once blamed me for her feet hurting.  She never whined or actually did any real complaining.  She's a girl; I would bet a large sum of money that at some point in her future the perfect pair of red suede high heel pumps (or their equivalent in her eye) will cause her to forget the sting of those too-small flower girl shoes.  But I wasn't the bad guy.  She knew the choice was totally and completely hers. Parenting with love and logic success.

And I think I lost a bit of my femininity today.