Good Enough Page 18
Of course, back when I was a truly awesome parent (ie long before I actually had kids of my own, yet thought I knew everything), I swore I’d never lie or resort to trickery with my kids. No, I won’t bullshit to my kids about Santa or the Tooth Fairy, I swore. I’ll always tell them the truth, whether they like it or not. I was confident of this, much like I was confident my kids would never eat sugar, watch TV or play games on my phone in restaurants. Boy was I deluded! As it turns out, reality can be one mean bitch but you never really notice this until you have a child to protect. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say it seems every time you turn on the TV or open up a newspaper, you come across endless reports of school shootings, global warming, war and paedophilia. Bad things are happening in the world all the time, so how do we explain them to kids when we as adults have a hard enough time grappling with them? Don’t we want them to stay innocent kids for as long as possible? Isn’t that the plan?
According to the experts, it’s because of this innate desire to protect our children from the harsh truths of the world that we choose to lie so regularly to them. Of course, if you need a few more reasons to appease your guilt over this business of ‘parenting by lying’, the following are also quite popular (it’s like pick ’n’ mix!).
* To get out of an uncomfortable situation (for example, if the little ones catch you in a salacious act, or you’re trying to explain where your cat went).
* To reassure and comfort (asking the fumigator to spray under the bed for monsters, or filling up a spray bottle with ‘monster zapper’ and doing it yourself).
* To ensure good behaviour (‘Keep it up and I’m sending you off to a Turkish village to marry your first cousin’, also known as an idle threat).
* To convince children to eat (‘That’s not carrot, it’s special Belgian slices made from fairy dust’).
* To make childhood special (the introduction of Santa, the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, etc).
* Because you don’t want to upset them (well, you try telling a two-year-old his painting is an epic fail and see how well that goes for you).
Yes, yes and yes, I admit I tick every box on that list. I don’t feel great about it, but you know what? I’m so busy juggling the demands of getting through each day, any concerns I may have about possible long-term negative consequences does not earn a place at the forefront of my mind. And besides, at least I’m not busting out whoppers, like: Your biological father is a billionaire/We’re living under an assumed identity because we’re wanted by some very bad people/You’re going to come into an inheritance of $25 million when you’re 18. That’s the kind of crap that can really screw with a child’s mind. I really don’t think inventing a ‘Dummy Fairy’ to put an end to my daughter’s obsession with her plastic soother is going to screw with her mind quite like any of those doozies, right?
Remarkably, the experts have our backs on this one – sort of. They do stress truthfulness is the key to a healthy parent–child relationship – but before you gather the little ones around the dinner table to let loose on exactly what you think of daddy’s philandering ways and your burgeoning dusk-til-dawn online porn habit, put a zip in it because although psychologists don’t advocate outright lying, they all seem to agree that sometimes telling kids less than the whole truth (also known as filtering) is the best policy when they don’t have the capacity to deal with all the facts just yet. Having said that, if you’re experiencing some hardcore family problems such as financial or marital stress, you don’t want them to freak out over a situation they cannot control, so that might be the right environment to lie until you’re blue in the face.
The trick with ‘parenting by lying’, apparently, is taking care not to overdo it. Tell enough tall tales and your little one may not realise they’re being lied to initially but if you do it often enough, they’ll soon cotton on and decide you’re probably not the most trustworthy person. And there’s plenty of time to destroy their trust when you’re conducting midnight drug raids on their bedroom and checking their phone in their teenage years.
So that’s all good with the lying, but what about our love of ‘parenting by reward’ (or bribery, or threat)? If we want to break it down, a bribe is something that’s dangled before the task to induce your child to comply. A reward is given after the event, and we all know what a threat is. Interestingly, it turns out that threatening kids (or ‘teaching them consequences’ for the sensitive folk) is far more effective than bribery and a hell of a lot cheaper. Because here’s the thing: offering your little prince or princess a bribe now might produce short-term results, but they fail in the long run as behaviour becomes more and more outrageous in the hope of attaining better and bigger prizes. It’s like constantly treating a food-motivated golden retriever (not that I’m calling your child a golden retriever but you get my point – I hope).
According to research, there’s also a strong link between using food rewards, such as cake and lollies, and obesity. And these kids are clever, they know how to take advantage of exhausted, time-poor parents. Before you know it, child-initiated deals will be the done thing in your house and soon, the tail will be wagging the dog. Another reason bribes and rewards fail is because they don’t teach kids respect and responsibility; they send kids the message that the activity you’re asking them to do must not have any intrinsic value if you have to pay them to do it. It also gives them a sense of entitlement which, as we all know, generally ends by crashing your sports car into a pool after a mammoth binge-drinking session.
So where does this leave us? It turns out the most effective method to get your children to behave is to praise them when they’re behaving, and to teach them all about consequences. A good example of this is, ‘Jason, if you continue to hit your sister, we will not visit the park today.’ By giving your kids a consequence they can actually experience (without being too harsh), the child feels the effects and will think twice about repeating the offence. The only thing is, you’ll need to be prepared to follow through or it doesn’t work (should be fun for those who’ve threatened boarding school!)
Me? I’ve thrown in my hand and given up on the whole matter. Yes, I may parent by lying, cheating, threatening and bribing, but you know what? I’m not beating them with a wooden spoon or starving them of love, food, shelter or affection, so anything else is surplus, I say.
Will our kids really turn on us if we lie to them?
Q&A with Doctor Justin Coulson, parenting coach (happyfamilies.com.au) and author of What Your Child Needs From You: Creating a Connected Family
Surely it’s okay to tell teeny-weeny lies to our children? (Please say yes.)
My typical response to that is children deserve the truth and as parents it’s up to us to share it with them – but we can do it in kind, sensitive and careful ways. When our children want to know tricky things we should be honest with them, but that doesn’t mean we should tell them everything, either. We should be guided by their questions, answering bit by bit until they’re satisfied or until we feel we should stop sharing. Also, some research indicates that kids as young as three or four can detect lying, so it doesn’t pay to lie. Honesty has always been the best policy.
Yes, but is there any situation in which it would be okay to lie to them?
No. One problem (of many) with lying is that it can often snowball out of control. You might tell a child they’re too little to do something (because it’s inconvenient for you) but they’ll spot another child who is smaller doing it. Then you’ll find yourself saying that they had to do blah blah to be allowed and that will keep the conversation going, and all the way you’re digging yourself in deeper. If there has been some bad news for a relative, you might simply say, ‘Uncle Bob is sick and the doctors are trying to help him.’ Your kids don’t need to know the detail about cancer or myocardial infarctions.
Erm, so I have this ‘friend’ who is addicted to lying to her kids to make things easier for herself. How can I get her to stop?
The key is
to stop each time you want to lie and ask yourself ‘why’ you want to lie to your kids. Lying is typically (though not always) a shortcut because we can’t be bothered spending the time talking through things with our children. So we lie. We cover it up. It’s a Band-aid. But over time it will come back to bite us. Also, it’s worth remembering that being honest with kids doesn’t mean telling them about things before they ask. We shouldn’t go for pre-emptive honesty. It’s not up to us to give them all the information about the ‘facts of life’ before they’re asking about it. But as they make comments or ask questions, we should be sensitive to those questions and find time to answer them to our kids’ satisfaction.
What’s the best way to break bad news to small children?
Follow some of these dos and don’ts for a start:
* Don’t do it in front of an audience.
* Don’t do it when you’re in a hurry.
* Don’t expect them to process it all and respond immediately.
* Don’t go overboard in how much you share.
* Do make sure you can be fully present with them.
* Do explain things briefly and clearly.
* Do wait patiently as they work through the ideas.
* Do SHUT UP after you’ve said a bit – and just listen.
* Do focus on their questions, answering them honestly but not divulging more than you need to.
Hmm, I hear what you’re saying, but what do we do about the Santa problem – and come to think of it, the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, etc? I’m a bit worried my daughter will come after me with an assault rifle once news breaks.
Most kids readily accept the Santa myth until around the age of six to eight years without questioning it. We actually don’t need to lie because they just go along with it. I don’t think that hurts. But I encourage parents to be honest with their kids when the question comes. I suggest the following:
* Tell them the truth – that you’re Santa.
* Google the history of Santa and tell them the inspiring story of Saint Nicholas.
* Explain that the tradition still continues with parents sharing gifts with their children, and that you’ll keep being Santa for the kids at Christmas until they’re (insert preferred age for Santa to stop here).
* Look for ways that you might play Santa with others in your community who are needy.
* Remind the kids to keep it quiet because other kids’ parents should decide when to tell their kids.
The fallout shouldn’t be too bad if we’re prepared to be honest about it, take our time with it, and listen to them for their reactions. If we persist in lying, if we cover it up, or if we just drop it on them and walk away then we should expect tears, questions and a depleted level of trust.
Lastly, what are some great alternatives to doing ‘deals’ with kids? (Relax, obviously I don’t mean of the Mexican cartel variety.)
Once we start doing deals it never, ever ends. A deal might give you a quick-fix in the here and now, but it becomes a rod for your back down the track. Instead of doing deals, or even having rewards charts etc (which are just a complicated form of a ‘deal’), I recommend the following:
* Eliminate all rewards that might be used as a tool of manipulation.
* Explain to the kids that ‘in our family we all help out’. Each afternoon when the kids get home from school, make sure they expect a short list of chores – age appropriate – before they play. It might be the dishes, the ironing, folding, washing, some weeding, whatever. Just make sure they know that ‘in our family we do chores each day’.
* Work with them. Invite them into your space and get into theirs. Work that needs to be done is always better when done together. Plus, you can make sure they’re doing it correctly and teach them if they need help.
* Show appreciation. Praising good behaviour has been shown to be detrimental in some circumstances. It’s better to show and express gratitude. So say thanks to your kids when they help out.
* Every so often surprise them with a really cool treat – just because.
Two of my babies die back-to-back
I went through pregnancy and all I got was this bloody teddy bear, I think darkly as I pull my knees up to my chest and attempt a smile at Sheila, the social worker standing at the foot of my bed. Not a bad little T-shirt idea, really, considering one in four pregnancies ends in miscarriage. Sheila, attempting to break through my grief, holds my hand tightly as she talks me through the merits of said bear she has tucked under my arm. ‘It’s a Bear of Hope, love – just a little reminder to let you know that other mums have been in your position before and have cared enough to donate one of these bears for you to have something to cuddle when you go home.’ In my mind I dare her to say, ‘You know, instead of the actual baby you were meant to be having because the two are fairly interchangeable,’ but she doesn’t. What more can she say? What can anyone say? Instead, she gives my arm a quick ‘you’ll be okay’ squeeze and continues to rummage through what appears to be a miscarriage showbag of sorts containing chocolates, seeds of forget-me-nots and assorted pamphlets on burying your baby.
Heavily sedated with a cocktail of morphine and Valium, I struggle to focus on the bear lying limply in my arms. I know the social worker means well by giving it to me, but nothing can change the fact that until this morning I was 14 weeks’ pregnant and now I am not. ‘It’s okay, baby, we’ll try again,’ Lee says softly as he holds my hand, pain etched all over his face. I nod slowly to reassure him that I’m still there, but really, I’ve already checked out. I don’t want to try again; I just want my baby back, the one who is still supposed to be nestled in my tummy. The one my body just couldn’t – wouldn’t – keep safe. I don’t say any of this, of course. I just stare at the ceiling with silent tears sliding down my cheeks, hating the world with every atom of my being. I wish more than anything that I could die as well.
Several hours later I head home a broken woman, and no sooner do we get the key in the lock than the floor falls out from underneath our feet and we are transported to a parallel universe where all our friends and family look the same, but act like complete strangers. I mean, sure, I’d heard it said that people often don’t know what to say when someone loses a baby (which is a shit term in itself because who the hell loses a baby?), but it’s true: people really are clueless when it comes to talking to and offering support to a woman (or man) whose baby has died. Some pretend it never happened, while others are more than happy to chat but I end up wishing they hadn’t bothered. ‘Oh well, I’m sure it was for the best,’ says one friend whom I immediately want to punch in the face. But I can’t get too upset about this because as it turns out, the condolences you’re offered as a mother whose baby has died get much, much worse. ‘Look on the bright side, at least you weren’t further along – imagine how much worse it would have been if you’d been at term and had to give birth to it?’ says another, whose face also suddenly screams for a good smack-down. And, ‘Don’t worry, my cousin Sally had not just one but eleven miscarriages but then she finally delivered a perfectly healthy baby last year,’ enthuses a work colleague, who genuinely believes telling me this anecdote will make me feel better about my own sorry situation. Well, guess what? I want to kill her too. Still, I’m pretty sure I was once just as hopeless. I had friends who lost babies when we were all younger and I’d give anything to go back in time and offer the kind of support that I couldn’t give then. Coulda, shoulda, woulda.
We could give into our grief I suppose – I’d certainly like to, but keeping us afloat is the fact that we have a joyful almost-three-year-old to entertain, and I’m fairly certain watching your mother cry her way through a couple of bottles of gin every day does not bode well for a child’s emotional health. So in Cella’s company we try to keep up the pretence that everything is super-dooper okay by performing what we call, the ‘Ridiculously Happy Parents’ show. We go for long walks on the beach, feed pelicans and make odd, enthusiastic statements in over-animated voices like �
�MMM! This cheesey toast is the best cheesey toast ever!’ and ‘How great is this barbecue, everyone? This barbecue is the best barbecue ever!’ If it sounds painful, it is, but I’m under enough sedation at this point to take down a small horse so am somehow able to shift gears and function like a regular mother, when I feel anything but.
It’s only once the sun goes down and Cella goes to bed that I can take a bow, wipe my brow and give in to the hysteria that’s been threatening to overwhelm me all day. ‘Do you think it’s because I hated Cella’s babyhood so much that this happened to us?’ I ask Lee tearfully over and over again as we recline on the sofa drinking cheap wine from our respective bottles. ‘No,’ says Lee, for perhaps the hundredth time. ‘I think it was just one of those things.’ I consider this for a moment, but can find no satisfaction in it. There’s a purpose and plan for everything, isn’t there? I can’t comprehend a world where life-changing events can be passed off as ‘one of those things’. ‘But what if the world somehow knows I’m not very good with newborns and I don’t deserve another one?’ I continue. Lee snorts loudly at this and takes a long sip from his bottle. ‘What about all the junkies and molesters out there with newborns? That’s hardly a valid argument!’ I know this but it doesn’t do anything to quash my pity-party. Lee, reading my mind no doubt, gives me the world’s biggest hug and smiles sadly. ‘You’re a great mum, Dilvin – you didn’t do anything to deserve this.’ No matter what he says, though, I can’t shake the feeling that I do deserve exactly this.