Category: Parenting

When Mary Tyler Son turned four something else turned, too, and not for the best.  The sweetest, gentlest, dinosaur loving, Greek myth reading, little boy became . . . how do I put this gently . . . aggressive.  AGGRESSIVE.  Hitting, kicking, in your face aggressive.  Unpleasantly so, too.  I checked the warranty, but it had expired.  Dammit.  We were gonna have to figure this one out on our own.

We tried time outs.  He would extend them to six minutes, just to show us that they didn’t matter.  We tried removing favored toys.  He found other favored toys.  We tried eliminating screen time.  Well, I gotta say, that one sucked more for me than for Mary Tyler Son.  Why was I being punished for his aggressive behavior?   Harumph.

And let me add at this point in time, any of you who feel the need to question my parenting tactics, have at it.  Judge away, Judgey McJudgersons.  This gig is tough and I will be the first to admit that I don’t have all the answers.  Suggest away, too, as maybe you found the elusive method I have been looking for.  What you can’t do is say what a terrible, horrible no good very bad son my boy is.  Or, you know, this:

“my daughter would never hit or kick. she never has been taught how to hurt someone. grateful for having given birth to a little girl with a soul thats peaceful and not full of anger and violence.”

Yeah, under no circumstances should you ever suggest that another person’s child has a soul full of anger and violence because they are going through an aggressive phase.  That ain’t cool.  You know how I know that?  Because I get to be with my boy 24/7.  The same boy who hits and kicks also kisses dandelions and tulips with his own two lips.  The same boy who hits and kicks also likes to share his banana bread — the really good bite with extra chocolate chips.  The same boy who hits and kicks also stretches his arms out first thing in the morning to get the first of many hugs of the day.

So, just so we’re on the same page, sharing your own hard earned experience with managing hitting and kicking and all around aggressive behavior is most welcome.  Condemning my son’s soul ain’t cool.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah — the No Hit, No Kick Club.  Mary Tyler Son’s aggressive behavior wasn’t escalating, but it wasn’t getting any better either.  I brought it up at the spring parent-teacher conference and his teacher assured us he had no aggressive behavior in the classroom.  Whew.  She also told us about the testosterone surge that occurs in four year old boys.  What’s that you say?

I came home and Googled, “testosterone surge in four year old boys.”  Most of the scientific evidence comes out of New Zealand (I blame the Kiwi love of hokey pokey), but there are tons and tons and tons of bulletin posts from frustrated and worried parents all describing exactly what I was seeing in my very own four year old little boy.  Sweet boys who are seemingly transformed overnight into loud, hitting, kicking, grumpy machines.  Oddly, not a single parent worried over the state of their son’s soul.

I was raised in an authoritarian Irish Catholic home.  Never in a hundred years would I have considered hitting or kicking my parents.  Not a freaking chance.  I knew, intuitively, that adults were off limits.  We sat quietly in church, too.  It was a non-issue.  If my Dad were to give advice, he would say, “He needs a little pat on the popo.”  Well, I love my Dad fiercely, but we simply agree to disagree on this one.  Popos are off limits.

I do, though, see red when my boy hits, kicks, or defies us so blatantly.  In my head I think, “That’s just not done.”  Somehow, what is crystal clear in my head is not so clear to Mary Tyler Son.  So, yeah, the hits and kicks and grumpy behavior continued despite our consistent parenting.

Mary Tyler Son’s teacher suggested reward over punishment.  What’s this you say?  At first, that sounded like crazy talk to my Irish Catholic authoritarian tendencies.  Reward this son of mine for not hitting or kicking me?  That seemed cray to the zee.

But one day, after another session of the boy’s hitting and kicking and me shaming, “How on earth could you hit your mother?  Your Mother?!” I knew I needed a new tactic.  In that moment was born the No Hit, No Kick Club.

It was decided that for every day without hits or kicks, Mary Tyler Son would earn a sticker.  With seven consecutive stickers, a new toy would be rewarded.  I opted for a stash of $4-6 Playmobile figures, none of which he had seen before.  I showed one to him as incentive and left it front and center on the kitchen counter.  He liked it.  He smiled.  He was excited.  Let’s do this.

I made a chart and posted a photo of it on Facebook, cause everything of worth happens on Facebook, right?  Not one, but two moms I really admire and respect told me flat out that seven days was too many.  One just happened to be my mother-in-law, who also happens to be a child psychologist.  When a child psychologist/mother-in-law suggests something, it’s prudent to listen.  And I did, but I had also already established the rules with the boy, so it felt not so cool to adjust coming out of the gate.

First day, success, sticker!  Second day, hitting, no sticker.  Third day, success, sticker!  Fourth day, hitting, no sticker.  NEW RULE!  Three days with consecutive stickers would earn a toy.  Mary Tyler Son liked the new rule, and sure enough, he racked up three stickers in the next three days!  Toy!  He liked it!  He racked up another three days and got another toy!  Wow.  I am a genius.  This No Hit, No Kick Club rules!

BAM.  With seven stickers in a row, and me commenting on that and suggesting we might extend the reward to five days, the hitting came back.  Mary Tyler Son was devastated.  He hit the next day, too, early in the morning, which seemed to give him free license to spend the day hitting and kicking, since it was already a no sticker day.  Boo.

We’re back on track now and today looks like it will make three days in a row with stickers.  I’m not holding my breath on that one, and I sure as hell am not telling him about it before bed time.  The jury is still out on the No Hit, No Kick Club, but we’re gonna keep at it for a while.

No doubt, though, I’ve doomed it after breaking the first rule of the No Hit, No Kick Club.  Shhhhh.  Don’t tell Mary Tyler Son.

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A few weeks ago I “liked” a Facebook page called “Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America.”  Some might call that “slacktivism,” but for me it is something more.  Seeing the page’s offerings in my news feed is educating me, informing me, encouraging me to do something.  This post right here?  It’s something I can do.  Me, a mom, most likely just like you, a mom, but I am using my voice to talk about something important to me — gun violence.

The thing is, ladies, we have mad power.  Mad power.  We vote.  We influence.  We care for the next generation, shaping their sense of the world. We hold our children each and every time another mass shooting makes its way into the headlines. We try and explain how and why scary people come into schools and shoot children.  I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough.

Here is what Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America is advocating:

1) Ban assault weapons and ammunition magazines that hold more than 10 rounds.
2) Require background checks for all gun and ammunition purchases.
3) Report the sale of large quantities of ammunition to the ATF, and ban online sales of ammunition.
4) Make gun trafficking a federal crime with serious criminal penalties.
5) Counter gun industry lobbyists’ efforts to weaken gun laws at the state level.

(Courtesy of the Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America website.)

This makes sense to me.  This makes sense to 90% of Americans.  Sadly, it doesn’t make sense to our politicians.

Owning a gun in America is a constitutional right.  This call for a more common sense approach to gun sales and legislation is in no way, shape, or form seeking to limit the rights of Americans to own guns.  What is it they say — some of my best friends are gun owners?  Yeah, that’s it.  Some of my best friends are gun owners.  To each his own, you know?

Here is the deal, moms.  We are strong.  We are powerful.  We have a voice.  Use your voice.  Better yet, gather our voices.  Demand change.  Call your politicians.  Talk to your school staff.  Talk to your neighbors.  Read, educate, learn.

What is happening, repeatedly, is unacceptable.  Something needs to change.  More guns is not the answer.  Politicians are under the thumb of who knows what.  They shake their heads in sympathy, but not empathy. Yes, of course, how sad to lose a child to random gun violence.  But that sympathy is quickly forgotten.  Harder to forget is what happens when we truly empathize with the parents of children taken too soon by a bullet. Imagine that anguish.  Imagine packing up clothes that will never be worn again, toys that will never be played with again, shoes that will never be tied again, books that will never be read again.  Empathy is an entirely different beast than sympathy, and wholly more powerful.

If you are reading this and you are a mom, you have the power to influence this national discussion.  You.  Yes, you.  You in the yoga pants and unwashed hair.  You, running late after work, stopping for a rotisserie chicken to feed the kids.  You on that soccer field, chilly and wet in the rain.  You have the power to influence this national discussion.  

That is some powerful shit, my friends.

You are a mom, an influencer, a nurturer, a voter.  Do your thing, Mama.  Do your thing.

Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America provides lots of ways to start.  Easy, simple methods.  Their website provides instructions on how to email, tweet, or call our elected officials.  There are social media tools to use to enlist the help of other moms.  You can even work with or establish a local chapter.  How cool is that?

Know that there is something more you can do than comfort your confused and scared child.  You are a mom, you are powerful, and you can help.

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