Not My Problem

by Cathy

Patti and I have a dear, beautiful friend who has two kids: a girl the same age as our daughters, and a three-year old boy. That boy, C, has got a twinkle in his smiling eyes, dimples that could melt the sun and a grin that will undoubtedly break many hearts.

His cuteness aside, he's a pretty snazzy dresser to boot. (Well, maybe mom and dad had a small role here.) He rocks his newsboy caps and his fedoras, his vintagey shirts, plaid button-downs and his cool boots. He's a showstopper, in every sense of the word. And in case your eye doesn't catch him, he'll let you know he's there. This rambunctious, free-spirited, face-grabber (Look at this! Look!) will definitely demand your attention if you don't freely give it. He's always got something to say, somewhere to run, and in true toddler phase, something to demand.

His mama (and good friend, Miche), is wonderful with C. Although she may at times playfully refer to him as "the little monster" she pushes him to do better, disciplines him when needed, teaches him patience and etiquette where he lacks it and maintains her cool throughout it all. 

Last Saturday, after ballet class, Miche, Patti and I went out to lunch with all of our kids in tow. The moms grabbed a comfy booth and we set up the kids at conjoined tables right near us for supervisory and other obvious reasons. But they decided that near the window is where they wanted to sit, therefore thwarting our convenient plan. En masse, our girls migrated over, staked their claim and waited restlessly for their food. Miche tried to keep C separate from the table of older girls, so she plopped him down into the booth with me while she went up to check on her order.

C sat there but he wasn't happy about it. Immediately he starts whining. "I don't wanna sit here!"
Frantic to keep him distracted for fearing some type of hunger-induced meltdown, I began interacting with him. And not just any old boring adult-to-kid conversation. I tapped into my acting chops and pulled out the mental props. I chopped and propped him as follows:

"C! I looooove your fedora hat! Can I try it on?"
"No!"
"Awww, I'm gonna be sooooo sad because it's so beautiful and I really want you to share it with me."

He uncrinkled his frown long enough to look at me, probably wondering, 'Is she for real?' It must've worked because he handed over his hat.

Immediately setting it upon my head, I asked "How do I look?"

That didn't cut it for little C. He began squirming and whining half-assedly to get his mother's attention, distorting his face into cry mode once more.

"Ooooooh, I can't wait to eat my hot dog!" I blurted out. "What are you gonna eat?"
"I don't wanna eat!" he screamed red-faced.
"B..B..But, how are you gonna grow if you don't eat?" I asked in my most genuinely worried voice. "Do you just wanna stay little forever and not get big and strong like Spiderman? That won't be good, will it?"
(Whatever...that's the first thing that popped into my head that I thought he could relate to, okaaay?)

Once again, he stopped mid-fit and sat there thinking about what I said, avoiding eye contact with me.
I was making progress and I was so proud of myself! I wanted to keep challenging myself with "the little monster" because now it was fun!
Just then, Miche walked over, and knowing he could get away with his behavior, defaulted back to whine mode.

As Miche got him settled down and situated him with his food, Patti walked over with a 'What's going on?' look on her face.

I, still reveling in psychologically battling and winning over an annoyed three-year old boy, was amazed at my composure. After explaining to Patti what just happened, I said, "Why can't I be this way with my own kids? I would've just gotten upset and said, 'You HAVE to eat!' or 'Stop whining and calm down or else we're going home!' Why am I so quick to be patient with other people's kids and not my own?

Patti looked me dead in the eyes and had a response at the ready.
"Because they're not your kids. They're not your problem. You know that you only have to deal with them temporarily and then they go back to their parents."

And there it was in a nutshell. I have the patience because it's not my problem. I couldn't help but think how quick we are to be patient and hand over solutions for other people and their problems but can't apply that same psychology to our own kids and our own problems.

So all I have to do is pretend that my kids aren't really my problem and the patience will follow, because maintaining patience with our kids, is every parents' problem.