“Oh, sweetie, if we don’t leave, we can’t come back. In fact, the only way to come back is if we leave. Don’t you want to come back sometime?”
–Momma to Claire whenever they have to leave anywhere cool, fun or exciting.
What? This logic is true! It’s flawed, but technically it’s true.
Just because she hasn’t figured out to say, “well, if we never leave, we won’t have to come back because we’ll already be here,” doesn’t mean I won’t keep saying it until she does.
So, when Claire is naughty, she gets sent to the time-out corner, and her age is punched into the microwave timer. One minute for every year is the equation we use. By all counts, her sentence is 3-minutes long these days.
Sometimes, unbeknownst to her, I punch in 3.14. What? Technically, that’s as close to her age as 3.00 is…actually, it’s closer.
Why do I do this? Because, random and/or impromptu occurrences of Pi make me smile, and if Claire is in the time-out corner, I need every excuse I can to smile.
And, if the truth be told, she’s lucky the microwave timer only has space for two decimal places, or Momma would get a little carried away. 
No, I’m not going to admit how many places of Pi I have memorized…then you’d really know I was a dork.
It’s too late for that; I suppose. 
So, a couple Saturdays ago, Claire and I were having a lazy morning. Daddy had gone skiing, and we were lounging around the house. Claire came out to where I was sitting at the kitchen table, and when I looked up at her, I was stunned.
She was wearing real clothes.
She had changed out of her pajamas, and put on real clothes.
And, they matched! But, that’s not the amazing part…
I was still in my robe.
I hadn’t even told her to get dressed.
She hadn’t asked me for help.
She’d just decided that it was time to get dressed and did so…like a normal human being.
What?
When did this happen?
All of a sudden, she doesn’t need me to tell her to get dressed? She’s skilled enough to put on articles of clothing by herself…and most of the time she insists on doing it herself, but I’ve almost always had to pester her get the ball rolling.
This is the same girl who will melt into a puddle on the floor when told nicely to put on her shoes and socks before we leave?
“I can’t, Momma! You have to help me, Momma! I can’t!”
No, I don’t ask. I tell. But, I tell her politely. And, she almost always drags her feet. I used to give her choices and ask and blah blah blah, but I’ve resorted to telling her what needs to happen. I have found that me telling her they really go on her ears and then trying to put them on her ears will invoke her overwhelming urge to show me how they really go.
She always has to be right. I have no idea where she gets this trait. *ahem*
She grabs them out of my hands and starts putting them on her feet. “See, Momma? They go on my feet! Not my ears!”
I try not to laugh too hard as she’s showing me the proper way to put on her socks.
…all by herself.
Silly me! What what was I thinking!?
*cough*
Well, now the secret is out. She can and will get dressed by herself, all without prompting. I guess some days just call for a little more drama than others.
One night, Claire was pretending to give the kitties treats. She was handing them invisible morsels. They were a bit confused but didn’t seem to mind playing along with the charade. Claire informed us that she’d created her very own concoctions: Merlin was being treated to mashed potato treats, and Jasper got to have pepperoni ones.
Daddy was focused on the laptop on the kitchen table, not really giving his full attention to what was unfolding in the kitchen.
“Here, Daddy!” she says, as she hands him what he thinks is an invisible treat. He pops it into his mouth.
“Mmmmm,” he says. “Is this one mashed potatoes or pepperoni?” proving he had been paying attention to some of the details, but what he’d failed to realize was that we’d switched gears, and she’d handed him Baby Piggy.
“Aaaaaaaaaaah! Daddy! That’s Baby Piggy!” Claire screamed, obviously distraught. “We don’t eat Baby Piggy!”
Without missing a beat, Daddy opened his mouth and Baby Piggy plopped out onto the palm of his hand.
“It’s okay, Claire,” he said, pretending to wipe the slobbers off of the poor unsuspecting imaginary little creature. “Baby Piggy is fine. She just went for a ride in my mouth!”
“That’s not a good idea, Daddy! That’s not a good idea!” she screams, grabbing Baby Piggy and holding her close to her chest.
“Claire,” I said, trying not to lose my composure. “It’s probably best if you don’t hand Daddy anything around dinner-time…especially if he’s hungry and not really paying attention.”
Nothing puts more of a spotlight on my perfectionist tendencies than temporary tattoos. And, it’s not really the actual tattoo that makes me twitch; it’s what happens after the child has had the tattoo on through a couple baths and a few changes of clothes.
The raggedy edges. The peeling colors. The tattoo becomes a shadow of what it once was…literally.
And, it drives me crazy.
It’s a good thing I don’t wear temporary tattoos myself, or I’d be just as bad as the little kid who wants to pick it all off.
“But part of Ariel’s tail is gone! It’s not pretty anymore!” is what I could totally picture myself crying to anyone who would listen.
Perfect, or completely gone. Those are the two choices for how I’d like my temporary tattoos.
And, it’s really hard to not project my version of How Things Are Supposed To Be onto everyone.
Oddly enough, Claire isn’t as picky as I am. Literally. I tell her not to pick at her tattoos, and she won’t. She’s quite capable of leaving them alone. Some of the better quality tattoos will stay vivid for quite a few days. Some of the cheaper ones crack almost immediately, even without the help of little fingers. But, almost none of them vanish without leaving specks or horribly obnoxious pieces behind, mocking the perfectionists who happen to gaze upon them.
“How can she possibly stay sane with such disorder and chaos in her life?” you must be asking yourself.
Well, insisting on wearing long-sleeves helps. But, I discovered the trick to easy tattoo removal, and I’ll share it.
It wasn’t until Claire’s 3rd Birthday party that I actually learned how to apply temporary tattoos myself…so let’s start there.
The tricks to applying a temporary tattoo:
The tricks to removing a temporary tattoo:
And, that’s it!
The tattoo is removed and sanity is restored!
…well, back to previous levels, that is.
According to the notes in Claire’s babybook, on March 3, 2006, Claire discovered her thumb. By March 8, 2006, she was waking up with it in her mouth. By March 30th, her 4-month birthday, she had no interest in her pacifier.
(Keep in mind that I didn’t want Claire using a pacifier. Oddly enough, on the second day home from the hospital, in the middle of a 3am crying session – hers and mine – I changed my mind, and the only one Claire would take was the one the hospital sent home with us. And, she would only use that specific kind. The day my hubby came home to find me boiling the only one we had because I’d accidentally thrown it away in the kitchen trash was the day I found them online and bought two more of them. Dear Soothie™, I loved you, and you saved my life, but I don’t miss you.)
Click photo to enlarge.
Claire and her thumb
And, so began the relationship of Claire and her thumb. When I told our pediatrician she was sucking her thumb, and asked him if we should try to curb the behavior, he relieved my fears. He said that the self-soothing mechanisms were great, and that by the time any permanent damage would be done, we could redirect her. We could wean her off her thumb later.
I took a big sigh of relief and focused my energies elsewhere. I looked at the bright side. I never had to fumble around in the dark for a pacifier that had fallen out of the crib. Never did I have to pick up a pacifier off of the dirty restaurant floor or have to turn inside out while trying to reach her pacifier from the front seat of the car. Her thumb was always there. It was there if she needed it. It made my job easier, and it made her happy….two things at the top of my list.
When she turned two, I talked to the pediatrician about it again. He said that two-yr olds really don’t have the mental capacity to stop a habit like this yet, so hold off on fighting that battle. I was okay with that answer. We started reminding her that she wouldn’t need to suck her thumb…eventually. You know, when you’re a big girl! Slowly we started implementing little rules. You can only suck your thumb in your car seat or your bed.
It seemed to work, for the most part, but we really didn’t pressure her. Most of the time a simple reminder, “Oh my gosh! Where are you supposed to suck your thumb? Are you in your bed? Are you in your car seat?” would suffice, but if she was really agitated or tired, she’d pop that left thumb in her mouth and use her right hand to caress her hair. I’d remind myself that she was still my baby. It was still too early to worry about it. I knew it would all work out.
When she turned three, I knew we’d have our work cut out for us. Now was the time to really focus on the project at hand. I’d decided to talk to the pediatrician again to see what his ideas were. At her well-visit, he had awesome ideas. One that really stood out was establishing the Fingernail Polish Reward. If she could stop sucking her thumb, she could pick out (and wear!!) her very own fingernail polish. Her eyes lit up when he said that, and I could tell that was the way to go.
He then got down on her level and looked her straight in the eye. “Claire, do you know why you shouldn’t suck your thumb anymore?” he asked her.
“No…” she hesitated.
“You are a big girl now! And, big girls don’t suck their thumbs! And, here are the three reasons! The first one? There could be germs on your thumb, and if you put your thumb in your mouth, you could get sick. The second reason? You could hurt your thumb. It could get dried and cracked and even bleed.”
Claire looked at both of us with wide eyes.
“That actually happened last year, Claire. And the year before. Do you remember that?” I asked her. I reminded her of how hard it was to keep her thumb from cracking and bleeding in the winter.
“And the third reason,” Dr. B. said, still looking at Claire, “is that you could move your teeth. You could ruin your pretty smile, and we don’t want that to happen.”
He repeated the three reasons and had her repeat them, too. She got the answers right, and she was so proud of herself.
I told him that we were going to her first dentist appointment in a couple weeks, and I was sure Dr. J. would say the same things. I told him we’d focus our attention fully onto that plan after that meeting.
Before we left the office, Dr. B. told Claire that she was a big girl, and that he knew she could do it.
He then reminded me that now was the time to start, but it might not happen for a while. “Between three and four” was the target we were aiming for. He gave me good pointers on how to remind her (put a piece of tape on it during the day, etc.), but that we should start slow. It would happen. She’d stop sucking her thumb.
A couple weeks later, we went to Claire’s very first Dentist Appointment. Just as predicted Dr. J. had the same three reasons for Claire to stop sucking her thumb that Dr. B. had!
That night, as we were snuggling on the couch, Claire was telling Daddy about her appointment at the dentist, and we started talking about the appointment we’d had with Dr. B., too, a couple weeks earlier.
“Dr. B. said I could suck my thumb for a little bit longer, Daddy,” Claire said matter-of-factly, hoping Daddy would believe her.
“No, he didn’t,” Daddy said.
“He didn’t?” she asked, knowing he hadn’t. Big alligator tears started to well up in her eyes and fall down her cheeks. “He didn’t say that?”
“No. No, he didn’t. He said you needed to stop it right now. Do you know the three reasons why?”
As we held her, she just sobbed her little heart out. When she was done crying, we all talked about the three reasons.
She wiped her face and looked at Daddy. “Well, Daddy…if Dr. B. said I shouldn’t suck my thumb anymore, then I won’t! I won’t!”
I was amazed at her conviction but happy to hear it.
“Dr. B. said I don’t need to suck my thumb anymore! I’m a big girl!”
And, that night, she didn’t. She didn’t suck it when we kissed her goodnight, and I peeked in on her before I went to bed a few hours later. Her thumb was nowhere near her mouth. In the morning, it was bone dry. Day Number One of the No Thumb-Sucking Project had been a success.
I was shocked and relieved.
In a former life, I was trained as a counselor. I’m very aware of the fact that it typically takes 21 days (or repetitions) to end a habit or change a behavior, and that’s only after you can admit that there’s something that needs to change. I knew that every day we were mostly successful with Claire would be a day closer to complete success.
Every time she’d go to bed, I’d remind Claire about the three reasons for not sucking her thumb, or I’d have her tell me what they were. Then, I’d peek in on her. (Sucking her thumb outside of her bed was non-existent.) There have been a couple naptimes during days that were particularly exhausting that I’d see that pesky thumb, but I’d tiptoe in, remove it from her mouth, and she’d never put it back. At night, she has yet to have a slip.
I couldn’t believe it.
She’d gone cold-turkey. Or, would that be cold-thumb?
By my calculations, she’d gone 23 days without sucking her thumb, so, on Saturday, it was time for the reward.
She had requested a special Cinderella Nail Polish and had been talking about it ever since Project No Thumb-Sucking began. When Claire wasn’t looking, I may or may not have put Cinderella stickers on a brand-new bottle of Sally Hansen™ Diamonds Nail Polish. Shhh, it will be our little secret, okay?
Click photos to enlarge.
Cinderella Fingernail Polish
Momma did the honors while Daddy acted as the paparazzi, capturing the big moment.
The Newest Proud Member of the No Thumb-Sucking Club
I am SO proud to announce that Claire is officially no longer a thumb-sucker! I’ll still remind her of the three reasons to not suck her thumb and still peek in on her, just to be sure we stay on the right track, but it feels so good to know that we’ve made it to the other side.
My favorite part about all this is seeing how excited she gets when we talk about it.
“I don’t have to suck my thumb anymore!” she’ll say. And, she says it like she’s finally free.
On Wednesday night, I had the opportunity to attend a Positive Parenting Workshop put on through Claire’s Preschool. It was presented by one of the school social workers, and followed the Love and Logic Way theme.
The class was free, and although we aren’t having “problems” with Claire, I wanted to go. I love learning. Learning makes me proactive. Being proactive makes me feel confident in my abilities. Feeling confident makes me a better parent. As luck would have it, the fact that my hubby had to work late that night coincided with our babysitter having finals this week. Her normally jam-packed schedule was wide open, and she was happy to come watch Claire for a few hours.
I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew I’d have a good time. I was looking forward to getting out of the house, and in true form, Claire was so excited for Molly to get here. Oh, and I was also interested in learning some new things.
To be honest, a lot of what the presenter discussed were things we already do around here. Claire is given a lot of “choices,” giving her the semblance of control. We use positive reinforcement whenever possible. We focus on the positive and try to redirect the negative.
Still, it was nice to talk to other parents and realize that we are all struggling with similar issues.
One of the things that struck me the most was the fact that Claire could be doing more for herself than what I’m letting her do. This, in theory, could be the cause of some of the contentious situations that arise every now and then.
I hadn’t even thought of that.
I mean, we were already giving her chores to do. Her job is to feed the kitties, and she’s really good at it! She gets the food out, fills their bowls, and puts the food back…all by herself! She helps me load the washer and the dryer. She helps me sort laundry. She even helps me make dinner; she’s great at dumping and stirring. (Don’t worry; I don’t let her near the hot stove.)
One of the challenging spots we’ve skidded through has been breakfast, or meals in general, but breakfast comes to mind. I give her a choice and she tells me what she wants. I no sooner have it prepared for her and she changes her mind. Sometimes. It’s not always a frustrating experience, but it takes a lot of energy on my part to think uber-positive thoughts before breakfast starts…
This is one of the issues that came up last night (another mother was having the same situation with her son), and the presenter said something that completely floored me. Yes, give them a choice. Yes, praise them for that choice. Then, make them own their own choice. They get to fix their own breakfast.
That sound you heard was my head exploding.
Why hadn’t I thought of that? I’m amazed every time I visit Claire’s Young Preschooler Class and watch her do something that I thought was above her ability. She can cut paper with scissors!? She can pour water into her own cup? She just turned three! That should have been my first clue, but I’d been totally oblivious.
It hadn’t even occurred to me that she could be doing more than what we have her doing already. I know that she’s growing up, but in my head, she’s still a bit helpless when it comes to certain things, and that could be the source of the squabbles we’ve been having.
Hearing the woman tell us that a three year old could get her own breakfast blew my mind. So, I decided to put this to action. We’ll see if this works! What do I have to lose?
So, yesterday morning, the morning after the workshop, I asked Claire what she wanted for breakfast: cheerios or grapenuts. She chose grapenuts. I made a big deal out of how wonderful her choice was and then shoved a chair over to the counter. This is the chair she uses to help me make dinner. I got down the box of cereal and got her bowl.
“Here ya go! See if you can do it!”
“Really, Momma? I can do it?” she asked with the excitement of someone who had just been told they could choose one of the puppies to take home from the litter.
“Really! I bet you’ll be great at it!”
And you know what? She was. She poured it with no problems. I got out the milk and she did a great job with that, too. All I have right now is the gallon-size, and I’ll get a smaller container for her to use, but she did great. She spilled a little, but I got her a papertowel, and she cleaned it right up! Then, I got the syrup for her (yes, she eats syrup on her grapenuts. Don’t judge.), and she put it on with no problems. It was like she was an expert.
Then, I had her go over to the silverware drawer and pick out which spoon she wanted.
She ran over, picked out her spoon, and hopped up in her chair to eat her grapenuts as if this is always how breakfast happens. She ate the whole thing without so much as a wiggle, and it was the most pleasant breakfast I’ve had in a while.
I had her put her dish and spoon in the sink, and she ran off to play.
I couldn’t believe it.
It worked!
Why hadn’t I thought of this?? This is such a simple explanation for why she’s been meeting me with resistance. She hasn’t told me out loud that she wanted to do it herself, so I hadn’t heard her.
I’ve been the hostess, chef, waitress, and janitor for so long that it didn’t even occur to me to delegate out some of these jobs. I am a perfectionist, but I know this, and I’m really working on summoning the casual as much as I can. I can do things properly and quickly. I’m a good teacher, but sometimes I don’t have the patience to suffer through the process. Well, I’m happy to report that I was able to rein it in. I didn’t twitch once, even when Claire spilled three drops of milk (not that I counted. *cough*) on the counter when she poured it herself. I really didn’t! I’m pretty proud of myself, and I’ll try not to hurt my arm bending it around to pat myself on the back. Still, this is a big deal for her and me.
I’ve always been the, “I’ll just do it myself because it will be done and done the way I want it” kind of person. I’ve had to learn how to delegate things in other departments of my life, but I just hadn’t gotten around to it with my preschooler. Well, apparently, I’ve been trampling a certain someone who is quite capable of learning to do these things on her own. I hadn’t even realized it was this time already…
So, needless to say, I loved the class I took. I learned some other things that I can’t wait to put into practice. In the meantime, does anyone know where I can find a small “of course you can do it yourself; you’re a preschooler” milk pitcher for the fridge?
Yes, the title of this post is dramatic, but it’s the truth. It is what it is. I’m being held hostage, and today is Day Nine.
It started out with the best of intentions. I decided to walk through the Holiday Aisle at Target one day. It was a Monday. Claire was in her Young Preschoolers Class, and it was the perfect time to pick some things up and scratch them off of Santa’s List.
Candy canes? Check!
What else…what else?
Oh, look! A Christmas Countdown Calendar! How perfect! This would be something fun that Claire and I could do every morning. Find the day, open it up, see the picture and eat the little chocolate candy.
Awesome!
So, the calendar and my other purchases were hidden downstairs with the rest of the holiday loot.
It wasn’t until the afternoon of December 1st that I remembered I had the Countdown Calendar! I’d been chatting with one of my friends online, and she mentioned something that triggered my memory. How could I forget! Right after Claire’s nap, I got out the Calendar, and we found the little square marked “1″ and opened it up.
Claire was thrilled.
I let her eat the teeny tiny square of chocolate with the little picture imprinted on it.
She was beside herself.
And, then she wanted to open up the next one. TWO comes after ONE! Let’s open that one!
Uh, no. I mean, yes. Two comes after One, but we have to open it up on December 2nd. Tomorrow. We already opened up the one for today.
So?
Let’s open up Number Two Right Now!
What about now?
Or now?
Could we pretend that today is tomorrow and open up the next one now?
But, there’s chocolate in there!
Can we open it now?
Please, Momma, may we open up the next one!?
Such a polite little beggar. But, the answer was still no. Until the next day, in which she got to open up the next little door, and the begging started once again.
And, so began my captivity.
We’ve suffered through nine days.
Today is Day Nine.
ALL DAY.
It is NOT Day Ten.
Tomorrow is Day Ten.
No, we may not open up the next little box.
My husband got a kick out of my predicament…until our captor turned her sights on him. That’s when he looked at the back of the box and told me that a serving size was listed as 12 pieces.
Thanks, but you’re not helping!
One a day! That’s the joy of the Countdown Calendar.
Can’t you feel the joy?
In all honesty, the irony of a calendar causing such frustration to a perfectionist who totally digs calendars is not lost on me, and that does bring me some joy…it’s twisted logic, but it is joy.
I was talking to my sister-in-law the other day on the phone and told her what was happening. I told her how I’d thought it was such a good idea! A little countdown calendar to make the holidays fun!
Wrong!
This was not what I had expected!!
She laughed and said that her childhood was full of memories of the countdown calendar and how she and her brothers would not only beg to open more than one door a day, but they would fight over who could open up the next window and who would eat the candy this time. So, it was good to hear that other parents have suffered before me and that I’m not alone.
I’ll tell you one thing, though. The Countdown Calendar is working. I can’t wait for the 25th to get here. In fact, it can’t get here soon enough.
On Friday, Claire and I went to her 3-yr Well-Visit at Dr. B’s office. Three! I can remember that very first well-visit when she was a week old.
Has it really been three years?
Sometimes it seems like it’s been longer. Sometimes it seems like it was just a couple weeks ago. I can honestly say I’ve really enjoyed the ride so far, and I’m so happy to feel that way. I wasn’t sure how I would feel looking back, and it’s nice to be where we are now and feel so good about the journey and the adventures to come.
We love Dr. B. He’s funny and smart, and he always makes us feel like we are his only patients. He calls me by name, and he gets it right. He acts as though he has all the time in the world, just for us. I know he’s really busy, but he’s never rushed or makes me feel like my questions are silly. As a brand new parent, that was something I craved; something I needed. And even as a parent of a 3-yr old, it’s still nice to hear positive feedback about your parenting. Positive reinforcement is such a confidence booster, and I always leave his office feeling awesome.
Claire did great at her appointment!
She weighs 33 lbs, which is in the 80th percentile, and she is 38.5 inches tall, which is in the 75th percentile. This is right around where she’s always been, so the doctor is quite pleased with her progress.
She jabbered up a storm with him, and he got quite a kick out of her little personality.
One of the things I like about Dr. B. is his sense of humor. He let her hold on to a tongue depressor and told her that it was a very special one. It’s a very special wood-flavored one and at the end of the exam, he’d let her taste it.
He told her he was going to look for monkeys in her ears, and she told him matter-of-factly that there were no monkeys in her ears! She was right. He checked.
He then wanted to look in her nose, but she didn’t want him to. He asked her if she thought there were boogers in there, and she said she didn’t care if there were boogers or not, she didn’t like the light on the end of that thing he was holding and she did not want it anywhere near her nose. He told her that the light wouldn’t hurt, and he quickly took a peek.
Do you know what he said he found in there? Fingerprints! She was a little confused by that, but I thought it was hysterical.
Then, she got to taste the special wood-flavored stick, and she wasn’t too impressed. She told him she thought it would be better if he had some that tasted like candy.
It was time to listen to her heart, and she told him that she didn’t have a heart in there. When he asked her what was in there, she said, “Oooey, gooey stuff!” He thought that was hilarious. We don’t let her watch ER, I swear!
He had no concerns about her health, and when he asked me if I had any questions, the only one I’d wanted to discuss with him was his ideas about how to curb the thumb-sucking. He said that right around now (between 3 and 4) is a good time to start working toward breaking that habit, and he had some fabulous ideas on how to get started. I’ve already started laying the groundwork, so we’ll see how this goes.
In the meantime, we’ll have to watch out for those monkeys. They like to get into the craziest of places.
Yesterday, I referenced “incentives” that we give Claire as a reward for good behavior. Today, I thought I’d share what some of those are. There was a time when Fruit Snacks held all the power in the world over her, and we’ve moved on from those days…which is fine, because I feel uncomfortable using too many food-based rewards. (That’s another blog post in and of itself…)
And, with Santa’s visit just around the corner, “Being good for goodness’ sake” should be good enough…but it rarely is.
The incentives I give to Claire are easy to understand, easy to accomplish and something that she really wants. And, isn’t that what goals are all about?
When it comes to toddlers and preschoolers, each situation is a little different, so I try to fit the incentive with what we’re going to be doing.
For example, when we go to the grocery store, if she’s good, she gets to ride the pony after we check out. The pony costs a PENNY. For real. Cost to me? Minimal. A PENNY! It’s on the way out of the store, so I don’t have to go out of my way. The result? Claire is really good at the store.
Target, on the other hand, doesn’t have an awesome pony to ride for a penny. Well, Target does have a Princess Aisle. (No, it’s not named that, but you’ll know what I mean when you see it.) If Claire is good, we get to walk through the Princess Aisle and look. Cost to me? Zero. We’re not buying anything in the Princess Aisle. We’re looking at the wonderful Princess Paraphernalia. And, I usually go through the store so that the Princess Aisle is at the end, so it’s not out of my way. The result? Claire is really good at the store.
What about a specialty store? No ponies. No princess aisles. Well, this is where things get a little trickier, but with a little forethought and planning, an awesome incentive can be put into play. (In yesterday’s example, I let Claire hold the bag from the store. The actual bag. I took the items out. Sometimes, she begs to hold receipts or my shopping list. Perfect! You’d be surprised at what is important and exciting to a preschooler!) If I can’t think of anything specific that she can do at the store, I let her bring one of her favorite toys with us in the car, usually one she doesn’t normally get to bring. The toy stays in the car while we shop, and if she’s good in the store, she gets to hold the toy when we get back out to the car. You’d be surprised at how well this works if you really play up how special all of this is.
Another item in my Incentive Arsenal is the drinking fountain. Claire is mesmerized by drinking fountains and will do pretty much anything to get to drink out of one. I use this to my advantage. She used to throw a fit when we had to leave the gymnasium after the hour-long playtime was over. Now, the threat of not getting to drink from the drinking fountain is so much worse than putting on her socks and shoes, that she usually does so without complaint. (Of course, getting her away from the drinking fountain is now a challenge, so I usually have a two-tiered incentive system in place that day.)
The key to getting these incentives to work is to be firm in not rewarding the wrong behavior. If an incentive is in place, and if after one warning she still shows blatant disregard for it, she doesn’t get the reward. Period. No pony rides if you’re naughty. There will be no trips through the Princess Aisle if you’re naughty. The special toy we brought with us goes in the trunk. Drinking fountains can only be used by little girls who act the way they’re supposed to. Period.
Another caveat? Any whining or crying for something is the perfect way to not get it. We ask politely for things with the understanding that we may or may not get what we want. Yes, the whining or crying escalates in that very moment if the answer is not to her liking, but you know what? The more times she doesn’t get what she wants by crying, the quicker she realizes that crying for things won’t work, and the less it happens.
Along with this is another incentive I haven’t mentioned that pretty much works in any store. You get to stay in the store and shop unless you throw a fit. If you throw a fit, we’re leaving. As the person who is needing whatever items we’re there for, it’s super-annoying to me to have to do that, but the alternative is worse.
And, like I said, it didn’t take her long to figure out we mean business. Actions have consequences. She has a choice on how to behave, and I have no qualms being the disciplinarian, but I also have no problems rewarding good behavior.
So, I’m happy to report that these incentives work for us. This coupled with the positive outlook make our outings enjoyable. Things are constantly changing around us, so I’m always on the lookout for new incentives to work into our routine, and I usually follow her lead on things she really enjoys doing and seeing.
And, the best part about all this? She gets what she wants, and I get what I want. It doesn’t get much better than that.
Today is Day 13 of 30 in the NaBloPoMo Challenge! Check it out and/or join in the fun!
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