I spent three wonderful weeks on a family trip to Ireland this past August. When, like me, you have two young children with you, a trip like that isn’t exactly a vacation. It’s an adventure.

Travel puts a lot of stress on kids and families. So while there are sights to see, wonders to explore and memories to be made, there are also many hurdles to overcome. One important thing I learned on this trip is that no matter who or what you encounter while traveling, kindness matters.

I’m going to start with the end of the story. We returned home after an eight-hour flight from Dublin to Philadelphia. The time difference was a killer, and there was no food on the plane my kids were willing to eat. My daughter, age 5, sat next to me on that incredibly long, exhausting flight. She’d made it through the plane ride without too much fuss. However, by the time we gathered our baggage in Philly, the stress of the journey and the exhaustion of a three-week trip all came crashing together.

She screamed. She threw a massive tantrum in the terminal. Hungry and exhausted, the one thing my daughter wanted and needed was to hold my hand. I happily offered it despite trying to juggle suitcases. I understood how upset she was and I wasn’t mad at all.

Then a stranger approached us.

This woman marched straight to my daughter and me and announced in a booming voice, “You’re parenting all wrong. You need to beat some sense into that girl.”

WTF.

I didn’t curse. Instead, I told the woman she was wrong and to leave us alone. I was appalled. And angry. This stark, crazy scene felt like a “Welcome back to ‘Murica” moment for us. Because one thing we’d seen in Ireland was a completely different attitude toward children. One I was not accustomed to.

Kindness.

Changes of countries, changes of attitudes

Everywhere we went in Ireland, people bent over backward to be kind and help. It didn’t matter if we were at a playground, in a department store or on a street. People saw that we had kids and treated us with great empathy and compassion.

Two weeks before our encounter with rudeness upon returning home, we had an opposite experience. My 8-year-old son melted down on the streets of Killarney. He’d been refused a lollipop and decided that required staging a tantrum. He lay on the side of the parking lot near some pubs and refused to move. He screamed a bit too. And while my wife and I did our best to handle the situation, strangers came by.

“Is there anything I can do?” said one.

“Oh, I’ve been there,” said another. “So sorry for this, but it’ll get better soon.”

Kindness. Just an attitude of kindness everywhere.

Perhaps it is a cultural thing. Irish laws are different. We quickly noticed every indoor area designed for kids (such as soft play centers) came equipped with a double-locking alarm mechanism to prevent kids from running out or strangers from going in. We noticed every place we went, even the tiniest middle-of-nowhere towns, had handicapped-accessible unisex bathrooms with changing tables — something we once struggled to find in America. Perhaps this mindset toward a “care culture” transcended laws and permeated into the general public?

Kindness comes in many forms

As we explored Ireland, we kept encountering that same kindness again and again.

One restaurant had nothing the kids wanted to eat. The chef marched out, offered to make something just for them, and soon did.

Our kids appeared bored while we checked into one hotel. A worker spotted them and then hurried over with coloring books.

When we tried taking a tour that was sold out, a stranger offered us his tickets on the spot, noting that I had younger kids than he did.

These were not isolated incidents. They were a pattern of kindness and compassion and understanding that children have different needs, everywhere we went in the country.

Back to that moment in Philly. Perhaps that woman was an isolated example. Or perhaps not. I vented about her rudeness later to a friend in New York. My friend said that three times in the past month someone told her to beat her son. This advice came from strangers who didn’t know her or her kid. The expectation to some is that kid needs and adult needs are the same, therefore kid behaviors and adult behaviors are the same.

I’m no longer mad at the rude woman. I feel sorry for her. And I feel sorry for everyone else who thinks it’s appropriate to say such things to parents. In the future, I wish all people, parents and non-parents alike, would treat others with a bit more kindness.

The world could use some more of it right about now.

Photo by Yan Krukau via Pexels.com

My oldest was sick and pitching a fit. My youngest, also sick, was crying as she claimed, “I can’t breathe.” Meanwhile, my middle child was crying because, well, everyone else was crying, so why the hell not? Meltdowns, meltdowns, everywhere!

My wife and I made eye contact with one another. Then we both began laughing like The Joker hatching a grand plot to destroy Gotham.

Sometimes, the ship just sinks.

It’s no secret to any mom or dad that parenting is easily one of the hardest jobs in the world. Parents often feel out of control and ruled by their children’s whims. I’m not talking about bad discipline or poor parenting. Your kids hold your sanity and your very destiny, in some very real ways, in their hands – and I’m convinced they know it.

These moments of complete familial meltdowns felt like failure for a long time. Isn’t it my job to keep it all together? If I’m any good at this parenting thing, why can’t I always stop the kids from freaking out? Why can’t I calmly and rationally navigate the quagmire of endless variables to find a way to de-escalate this situation and bring peace to the family dynamic? Why?

Because, sometimes, the ship just sinks.

Meltdowns? Let ’em happen!

I’m not sure why that phrase has come to mean our home has descended into bedlam. Over the years, I’ve used the phrase to comfort myself. I visualize trying to save a cruise ship from sinking by bailing it with a cheap plastic cup. The phrase and visual remind me that no matter how hard you may try to keep everyone happy, you’ll eventually fail. On certain days, the kids conspire together to burn the universe down. Resistance to their assimilation is futile. Like any cleansing fire, you just need to let it burn.

Sadly, I’m not here to offer advice on how to avoid the ship sinking. I say let it sink.

Let the kids cry a bit.

Let them feel their feelings.

This is not an invitation for them to run like banshees down supermarket aisles. However, when at home, trying to forcibly restore order can be more damaging. It often prolongs the suffering. When all three kids were crying, and my wife and I chose to laugh, it quickly diffused the situation. Each child slowly calmed down. This allowed us to address their issues – if possible – and slowly, calmly restore order.

It would be great if I could smugly proclaim this has always been my strategy. I’m an order guy. I like to tell the kids what to do, and I often demand they obey with little to no complaints. (I bet you’re laughing. You should be laughing!) But in reality that doesn’t often happen. The wisdom contained in my words has emerged from the fiery cauldron of failure and chronic mistakes. Some sort of super-powerful parenting physics law comes into play here: Every forceful and ill-fated action taken by parents to restore calm is often met with an exponentially greater reaction to resist desired calm. You just read it on the internet, so it’s irrefutable science.

Sometimes failure is an option

If your home is often plagued by full-scale meltdowns, I’d understand if you have adopted a different strategy. My wife and I only occasionally experience our Chernobyl, so it’s a bit easier to surrender to the moment. If your family dynamic is more complicated, maybe there are too many fires to let burn, but I hope the following encouragement soothes the scars.

It’s OK. It’s all OK.

I’m not offering a participation trophy. I’m speaking truth. Sometimes, the ship just sinks, and that’s OK. You’re not a failure. Your children aren’t monsters (well some are, but surely not YOURS). We all fail to maintain full unit cohesion every now and then. They may be tiny and cute, but those damn kids are still just people. Sometimes people suck. Sometimes, there’s not much you can do but step back, let it all burn down, and be there with a hug to cool things off.

The next time your neck deep in a kid-generated flood, remember you’re not alone. All across the world, maybe even the universe, there are parents witnessing the full meltdown of their brood. Whether it’s a spaceship, a cruise ship or a battleship, sometimes the ship just sinks. Let it happen, and I’ll see you on the other side.

Unless your kids really ARE monsters. In which case, build a submarine.

Photo by Keira Burton via Pexels.

Starting school was difficult for our family last year. Every morning for the first month my son Jake would seemingly break down when he got to the classroom, begging me not to leave. It broke my heart.

His teachers finally approached me and suggested he might do better if he had a consistent school-morning routine. At the time, we didn’t have one. Getting him ready for school was chaotic. So I developed a plan. He would wake up and go potty then have breakfast, get dressed and watch TV for a bit while we waited to walk out the door. Surely it would work.

It did for a while. Soon it turned back into chaos. Unfortunately, as a person with Tourette syndrome, I easily get frustrated. When facing an unexpected challenge, I can go from peaceful to rage in 2.4 seconds. And as always, frustration at home translated to a hard day at school for my son. I worried.

Finally, my wife reminded me of the unique connection I share with my son. We feed off each other’s moods. If I push, he pushes harder. If I were to loosen up and not be so rigid with his school morning routine, things might change for the better. Remain firm, yet flexible.

She was right. When I loosened the reins I found mornings became easier. When my son insisted on watching TV instead of getting dressed and having breakfast, I struck a bargain with him. Instead of forcing him into his room to get dressed before TV time, he could watch TV if he cooperates and gets dressed at the same time.

It also helped me to enter the school morning routine aware that he is not even yet 4 years old. It’s his job to push my buttons and I have to make sure he doesn’t get me riled up. His day at school depends on mornings with me being calm and peaceful. Now I know. And knowing is half the battle.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

Photo: © Sidekick / Adobe Stock. This post first appeared on the NYC Dads Group blog in 2014.

This graduation season, I moved the tassel to the other side of my mortarboard for I have passed Parenting a Tween and commenced Parenting A Teenager. Where’s my stinkin’ cake? What, no moonbounce in the backyard? What a rip-off.

Graduating a kid from tween to teen usually doesn’t register on either end of the celebration spectrum. That’s a shame. Having a child turn 13 is a special time for the child and also the mother and father. It also marks a turning point in the ever-evolving parent/child relationship. In fact, it just might be the most important time in both of your lives.

Of course, the baby years are important. However, I’m reminded of a baseball saying: “You can’t win the World Series in the first month of the season but you can lose it.” I think this applies to parenting too.

So much of the parenting world, from “expert” books to those tired parenting memes to the overall cultural conversation about kids, revolves around the early years and the sleepless nights. In retrospect, all that stuff — the baby, toddler and early elementary years — is the easiest part of a parent’s job responsibility. We can get that shit done with only determination and a stronger gag reflex. For our efforts, we’re rewarded with baby smiles, adorably mispronounced words, a fountain of kisses and air-tight squeezy hugs.

So, don’t drop your baby on its head. Don’t blow secondhand smoke in its tiny face. Definitely don’t be an asshole as your child grows from baby to toddler to tween –someone sorta resembling a real-life actual person. But try as you may, you aren’t going to “win it all” at parenting in those early years.

With that in mind, here’s what I’ve learned about parenting by parenting a tween:

Watch those ‘foreverwords’

I was speaking with a friend when she mentioned the term “foreverwords.” Say your tween child has done something. Maybe that something is grand or maybe it is life-altering in what could be a possibly terrible way. Regardless of how good or poor their decision-making proves to be, how you respond initially — the actions and words you use in that very moment as you and she/he teeter on a high wire — will form the foundation for a possible shift in your parent/child relationship.

The idea of pausing before speaking or acting out those foreverwords hit me hard. The wrong choice could be ugly.

The tween years of parenting require more nuanced thought, on-the-fly nimbleness, and patiently considered words and actions. Our rewards during this often confusing and conflicting time won’t always be as adorable or evident or immediate or obvious as they were in those baby and toddler years. However, they will be powerful for the life of your child.

So tread lightly, moms and pops. The cement is wet still and awfully impressionable. You do not want to misstep and cause cracks in your kid’s permanent foundation. Not now, not after you took such care to keep them alive and reasonably happy for the past decade or so.

Be more involved with them than ever before

You don’t get to parent less or clock out in any way from the job when your kid reaches the tween years. The exact opposite is true. You need to put in more hours, give your parenting decisions more thought, and double down on your commitment to the job of being a dad or mom.

Parenting a tween (and I’m sure a teen as well) requires more from you. I’m afraid many parents don’t get this memo. Many parents think their job is nearly over in the tween years and they check out through the teen years.

That’s a terrible, terrible move.

Yes, your older child is pretty darn self-reliant now. They have a phone, they can let themselves into the house by themselves and stay at home while you run errands locally. It’s kinda great for you and them.

You can have conversations about some grown-up stuff with your tween and it’s actually enjoyable and thought-provoking at times.

While all that is true, your 11-, 12-, 13-, 15-, 17-year-old child needs you to be a more actively involved parent now. More than ever before.

They need us more, even if they insist they don’t. So we need to parent more.

More thoughtfully, more passionately, more earnestly, more actively.

More.

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This blog post is part of the #NoDadAlone campaign. Fathering Together/City Dads Group, the National At-Home Dad Network, and Fathers Eve are joining forces to amplify messages that help dads recognize we are not alone! Follow #NoDadAlone on Instagram, and learn more at NoDadAlone.com.

A version of this first appeared on Out with the Kids. It first ran here in 2017 and has since been updated. Photo: ©LIGHTFIELD STUDIOS / Adobe Stock.

I have a theory. It’s so revolutionary, so mind-altering, I’m terrified to unleash it on the world. I’m sure a savvy behavioral scientist will steal my idea and claim it as his own. Perhaps some pseudo-scientist will develop an outlandish experiment to test my hypothesis while giving me zero credit. Despite these obvious dangers, I’ve decided to bravely share my idea with the world.

I believe children appear to have endless energy because they actively and greedily consume the life force and willpower of their parents and caregivers.

That’s it. That’s the theory. It’s the only way to explain my children’s ability to grind my resolve into dust.

I’m sure most parents can relate, but with all humility, I’m not your average parent. My hobby — running ultramarathons — is based on willpower and longsuffering. I voluntarily push myself to the physical limit just to see how far I can go. My endurance and resolve to will myself to finish these races is my superpower, and yet . . . my 4-year-old can bring me to my knees.

Compare your life before v. after kids

If we are on even footing, human to human, I believe I can out willpower anyone on Earth. Those rare times I encounter someone with similar resolve, it’s a bad day for us both. However, my children come equipped with a genetic advantage. They can somehow extract my life force, my very essence, and use it against me. It’s the only way a 9-year-old could use logic and wit to defeat me. How else could you explain a 7-year-old with more probing questions than a special counselor investigating a former president?

Yeah, sure, it’s possible I’m not as special as I think I am. However, I reject that reality. Instead, I’ve invented an outlandish, borderline supernatural explanation for why children erode parents’ defenses. As crazy as it seems, it does make sense. Let’s look at the evidence. (And remember, you’re reading this theory on the internet — I’m not obligated to offer any — let alone, REAL — evidence yet I’m offering it.)

Firstly, I bet you had more energy before you had children. Morning wake-ups were easier. Drink a glass of wine while following a complex recipe? Easy-peasy. Staying up beyond 10 p.m.? Non-issue. Reading a book was a relaxing, calming experience; you could easily finish a chapter without losing consciousness. But then, kids …

Secondly, I bet you used to do stuff. Any stuff. All the stuff. Hobbies. Social lives. Yard work. You know — stuff! Your only consideration was whether you felt like doing stuff. There was no one else to interfere. No one else draining your will and resolve. It was just you. But then, kids …

Thirdly, remember sex? I do. It’s how we got ourselves into this mess.

Fourthly . . . well, I’m still stuck on the sex part.

Oh, the endless questions, negotiations

Now, I have a confession. All of the above is admittedly nonsense. It’s a cover. An elaborate explanation to give me the courage to say: I’m tired, and I feel like I’m losing.

I probably shouldn’t view parenting as a winning or losing proposition, but it all feels so contentious. Each interaction with my kids is a complex negotiation. My oldest, for example, has begun questioning every request or decision my wife or I make, and she needs detailed explanations to be satisfied.

Eat your dinner. Father, how much food do I have to eat?

Pick up your toys. Mother, how many toys would be acceptable?

Brush your teeth. All of them, dear parents? And just how many minutes of this would constitute sufficiently brushed?

It’s exhausting.

Meanwhile, my middle son is a cliché “boy,” and everything has become physical. He runs around the house like a raging Viking, plundering my other kids of their safety and me of my will. By the time my youngest makes her move on me, I’m like a limping antelope asking the cheetah, “Just make it quick.”

Worst of all, these little soul suckers are only 9, 7, and 4.5 years old. What will I have left in the tank when requests start to involve dating, driving and the really scary shit?!

I look at other parents who have survived and wonder: How?

Is this what good parenting feels like?

I’m terrified of the future and I question my ability to navigate what lies ahead. Already I struggle to keep up. School and sports. Birthday parties and play dates. So many dance practices, cheer practices, and cheer AND dance competitions. Do I spend enough time with them individually? Does one of them feel like they don’t get enough attention? Is there enough time for each child to pursue his or her own interests?

I’ve told other moms and dads that if they are stressed about their parenting decisions, it means they’re doing something right. I wonder if I can take my own advice? Is it truly evidence I’m doing my best? Who the hell determines why my “best” is, anyway? Why do I keep asking so many questions? Is THIS where my kids get it from? Crap.

There is some pseudo-science part of my brain that may believe children have a secret, cosmic superpower that allows them to drain us of our life force. Maybe that’s the alternate reality explanation I need to get myself through the parenting quagmire of endless questions and chronic bickering. Perhaps, in some alternate universe, I’m winning awards for parenting aplomb, but in this world, the words of the English band Bastille say it best: “What can I say? I’m survivin’, crawling out these sheets to see another day.”

So go — observe your kids from a distance. If they make eye contact, and their eyes shine and glow as they drain you of will and life, remember life-force energy vampires are real, and those damn kids always know what we do in the shadows.

Photo of life-force drained father: © globalmoments / Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our archives for great articles you might have missed over the years. This article about a dad’s introverted teen daughter comes from 2018.

I recently ran into the mother of a girl at my daughter’s high school. Both our kids are seniors this year; they know each other and are casual friends.

After congenial hellos in the line at our neighborhood coffeehouse, she asked, “So! What are Riley’s plans after graduation?”

We’re not totally sure yet, but are looking at colleges in the area.

“The whole college thing is overwhelming, isn’t it?” the mom exclaimed. “How are her grades? How are her SATs scores? Are you applying to places that put a big emphasis on extracurriculars?”

Grades were fine; test scores, fine. I had no idea how much certain schools care about extracurriculars (because of how I’m a bad dad and stuff), so I kept my answers polite but short, without elaborating much.

But this mom could not be stopped.

“Hey,” she said, “did Riley ever decide to try out for any school plays? The last time I saw you, you said she was thinking about doing theater. Theater can do wonders for a kid’s social skills and confidence. Skyler isn’t a theater kid, but she’s really loving her debate team. Plus she’s on the yearbook staff. And she’s doing cheerleading, can you believe it!?”

Riley and I had briefly talked about theater as an extracurricular pursuit, but it ultimately wasn’t for her. I said as much to the mom, then mentally kicked myself for it.

“Oh,” she said, suddenly doleful. “Sounds like she’s still our little introvert, isn’t she? You know what? It’s going to be fine. You shouldn’t worry. A lot of kids grow out of it.”

That’s when I had to suddenly use every ounce of maturity I had to excuse myself politely. It wasn’t just that her tone was condescending and offensive. It was that it was laced with the arsenic glaze of “Thank God my kid isn’t like your kid.”

Thanks for that, but I like my kid just fine, fuck you very much.

Dad and daughter — different teen spirits

I was also an introverted teen. It took me a while to come out of what I perceived at the time as my “shell.” I was shy, awkward and pretty unsocialized. (And, as it turned out, deeply, deeply closeted. But that’s a whole other bunch of blog posts.) I never stopped being weird in my own ways, but I did discover a few social skills and ended up making valuable friends, many of whom are still in my life today. I tapped into some dormant extrovert traits around my junior year. I discovered confidence through my school’s fine arts programs, learned the fine art of partying from my more rebellious friends, and found ways to connect with people from different social circles. As a result, I have deeply fond memories of high school.

But when I became a parent, I firmly told myself that when my daughter became a teenager, I wouldn’t use my own experience as a barometer for what was and wasn’t right for her — a common parenting mistake.

This is good because while my high school experience was about friends, school activities, and sneaking out to late-night parties, my teen daughter is not.

Her high school experience has been different. She has a couple of friends, but very rarely does she have anyone over after school to study or hang out. She’s involved in a couple of afterschool activities, but nothing that has enlarged her social sphere. She doesn’t party. She spends most weekends at home with us and seems content with that. She’s a straight-laced, good kid.

Yes, my daughter is an introverted teen.

Neither she nor I need a Myers-Briggs test to tell us that. I see it in her behavior, and I recently came to appreciate it more than I used to.

Why do people worry about introverted teens or introversion in kids in general?

Because introversion so often runs against what we’re told are valuable skills: sociability, confidence in large groups, and the overall ability to be the life of the party. It’s the stuff of popularity and acceptance. The stuff we see in the kid Most Likely To Do Everything Impressive After Graduation.

In our cultural context, despite what people claim to understand today about the range of personality types, and the values that come with being both an extrovert and an introvert … the extrovert still always seems to win.

Introverted teen at her best

What does life with my introverted teen daughter look like?

• She is smart and funny, yet has limited energy to sustain it with others.
• She likes being around people and has fun in social settings, as long as she can retreat for short breaks to re-energize.
• She likes parties as long as she has an exit strategy available to her. She doesn’t like the feeling of being trapped someplace where there are tons of people. (You know what? Me neither.)
• She likes attention, but only when she knows to expect it, and only in measured doses. In other words, she wouldn’t like having friends throw her a huge surprise birthday party. She does, however, like getting together with a few friends at a time to hang out.
• She has friends but prefers them at arm’s length much of the time. She doesn’t do the deep sharing thing easily with others. The close friends she does have, she cares for deeply.
• She’s a good listener with tremendous intuitive skills. She pays attention. Nothing gets by her. When I’m feeling sad or upset, she will notice and ask what’s wrong. And because she’s so intuitive, I can’t get away with the classic parental deflection answer: “Oh, I’m just a little tired.” She sees right through that.
• She enjoys her own company and is almost completely immune to peer pressure. No one will ever pressure her into doing something she doesn’t want to do.
• She spends her free time diving deep into her own artistic creativity, drawing, sketching and manifesting a world around her that’s more colorful than the one others see.
• She solves problems and addresses challenges by talking them out to herself, rather than looking for others to serve as a sounding board. This means she’s got resilience, resourcefulness, and the ability to think critically on her own.

I do believe that there’s a healthy middle ground between extroversion and introversion, of course. The ability to draw energy both from being with others and from taking time alone? That sounds great. Do you know anyone who has that particular yin-yang balancing act down?

My daughter still has growing to do. As always, I look forward to seeing how she’ll evolve as adulthood approaches. But do I want her introversion to end up being just a phase? Do I want my wonderfully strange, creative, thoughtful girl to “grow out of it?”

Not even a little bit.

Introverted teen photo by Igor Cancarevic on Unsplash

We’ve all seen the meme. “This is fine,” says the dog surrounded by flames. But, of course, at one point or another, we are all not fine.

Just when you think you’ve figured out everything that life could throw at you, it hurls the nastiest curveball ever. How we cope with these unexpected transitions is one of the biggest tests of parenthood.

The most recent curveball I faced came streaking from the mound this spring. Our family had just settled into a really good routine. After being a stay-at-home dad for six wonderful years, I’d gone back to work part-time. With this new juggling of multiple small jobs, we enrolled our daughter in daycare.

All seemed well until she was home sick one day, and acting up.

“What would they say if you acted this way at school?” I asked. Without missing a beat, she responded, “They’d hit me.”

It was such an innocuous response. The answer of a 3-year-old who doesn’t know anything’s wrong. But her answer tore my heart in two.

I tapped into all my training on what to look for when a kid tells you something disturbing and did some digging. I soon realized this was no casual comment and no mistake.

My daughter had been spanked at her daycare. She told us that this was a regular punishment for unwillingness to go or to listen when going to the bathroom. We were appalled.

We confronted the daycare and alerted the authorities. We withdrew her immediately and only then did the full implication of this set in.

I was back to being a full-time dad. Our daughter had suffered a trauma, and we had guilt over ever sending her to daycare at all. My daughter was home now full-time, which affected both my son and wife (who also works from home). The stress grew and grew.

And, as so often happens, life follows a successful curveball with another wicked breaking ball. This time it was a series of illnesses, including a truly difficult hospital stay for my son.

So, here I am, still at the plate, two strikes down, still ready to swing. How do I keep standing? I know life’s next pitch might very well send me back to the dugout. I know I’ve little chance of success. How do I stay positive, with a smile and the “this is fine” mentality when there are flames all around?

Coping through silliness

I think the answer’s different for everyone. For me, I knew I needed something to latch onto. Both during the COVID-19 pandemic — one of the most trying of times for all parents, not just me — and this recent spat of bad luck, I found myself grasping for joy and hope. Hope is often portrayed as this flimsy, fragile emotion, but it’s really the opposite. It’s the layer of diamonds beneath the shaky crumbs of insecurity. And my answer both then and now has been silliness and dance.

Embracing the silliness in life is something I’ve written about before. It’s continued to work. Goofy voices (and Mickey and Donald, too), silly walks (Monty Python eat your heart out), or just plain pun fests (pun-ishment, indeed) are all avenues for moving forward. A forced smile is still a smile. And forced smiles do the strangest things. They spread. The more I smile, the happier my daughter is, and the happier my entire family is.

I will interrupt this regularly scheduled post with the important caveat that I most certainly cannot dance. Not even a little, and not even after multiple lessons. But that doesn’t matter. I do dance, especially with my kids. This was the perfect time for Bluey to release that extended version of the song “Dance Mode.” Yeah, it plays on repeat daily now at this house.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m angry over what happened. Furious, even. Yet the rage doesn’t serve my family, right now. And I still have days where my own battery feels low, to be sure. But every batter comes to the plate with at least a little doubt. The best hitters are only successful about 30% of the time, after all. Yet, if you stare down life as it’s winding up to toss another pitch, and truly believe that everything is, in fact “fine,” no matter what flames you’re ignoring, perhaps you’ll manage to hit one out of the park after all.

Ok, maybe this isn’t fine. But it will be in time.  

Photo: © globalmoments / Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This one on teaching generosity to your child comes from 2017.

You don’t have to look too far to see a world where people are selfish and lack the socialization to show concern for others. People often put themselves before community interests. It’s disappointing, to say the least, especially since we spend whole chunks of our kids’ childhood trying to give them the opposite values by teaching generosity, kindness and humility.

Preschool and early elementary school are — as author Jerisha Parker Gordon notes in The New York Times about the flip side of teaching her daughter to always be nice — obsessed with sharing, taking turns and learning cooperation. Yet, it’s a skill set in very short supply among adults. What are we to do?

For young kids, this contradiction can be confusing. Not only in the way that the grown-up world actually operates but also in their own social world. There, we teach kids to sometimes sacrifice their own justified preferences and independence for the sake of the group, however, how often do the adults they see and hear do the same? Neither approach is — strictly speaking — correct. It’s not always about the group and it’s not always about the individual. Our culture is filled with the push-pull of that duality on a daily basis.

I’ve noticed lately that I’m extremely proud of my kids when they stand up for themselves. It’s a function of multiple inputs: the rise of helicopter parenting that we’re working against, my own sheepish personality tendencies, and our constant encouragement to socialize. When they step up and assert their own dominance in an appropriate situation, it sends a chill of happiness down my spine because it means we’re raising well-rounded, aware kids.

Generosity lessons vs. life lessons

The dynamic is different for each of my children, though. 

For my son, as a “stereotypical” little boy, it’s often working against a physically active mentality where simply asking him to keep his body and mouth calm and quiet is a major task. Slowing him down to show empathy or let others go first is a major accomplishment.

For my daughter, her struggles to be generous in spirit often come from having her desires thwarted or a lack of inclusion hurting her feelings. As frustrating as it sometimes gets, her ability to speak up for herself is something I don’t want to go away. When someone cuts in line in front of her, she’s completely right to tell them it was her turn first. The trick is getting her to channel this when maybe it’s not so clear-cut that she’s justified.

I suppose, in the big picture, it’s better to create overly generous kids given what we’re working against as a society. But no matter what kind of generosity we hope they take everywhere with them, being equipped for the nasties out there is our duty as parents as well. The ungenerous can neither get them down nor become their obsession. Find like-minded people, lead by example, and ignore the haters. That’s a difficult lesson to learn in the tiny world of school and friends where we wish to be liked by all and win over even the harshest critic.

Generosity coupled with independence is a hard lesson for most adults. I always joke, politically, that people need to go back to kindergarten and learn the basic concepts. At the other end, we have kindergarten students who are working on sharing and equality just fine — but many of these kids need a dose of confidence and skills for working through their complicated feelings about socialization.

The best way we can show them how to navigate the waters is to do it ourselves. Our kids are constantly watching us for examples. Let’s be the kind-but-firm people they need.

A version of Teaching Generosity first appeared on Newfangled Dad. Photo: © oksix/ Adobe Stock.

Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This one on setting limits with your child comes from 2010.

A friend of mine recently said parenting really starts when your baby becomes a toddler and starts to turn against you: resisting going to bed, testing what happens when they throw that very healthy food on the floor, and walking independently becomes climbing on the sofa, the coffee table, or the kitchen counter. (Check out our post on positive discipline.) I completely agree!

I attended an informative parenting discussion at the 92nd Street Y Parenting Center in Manhattan to educate and equip myself with more tools to face these challenges. Overall, I enjoyed listening to other parents vent their frustrations as well as share successes with limit setting. The key for me is to understand where to draw the line versus where to let things go. I don’t want to fight every battle and I don’t want to say “no” to too many things. As with teaching and learning, if we get things right in the early years, won’t it be easier to set limits later on?

There were so many key points shared throughout the night. The 92nd Y summarized many of them in their “suggestions to help with toddler behavior and setting limits.” Some are common sense, but together they form a nice roadmap to follow. Please take them more as food for thought than as rules to live by.

Setting limits for child behavior

• Think of discipline as guidance that helps toddlers in their ongoing behavior.

• Because they are changing and growing so rapidly, toddlers need rituals, routines, and regularity — they find this reassuring.

• Let them do things that they can do, even if it takes longer.

• Toddlers need limits to feel safe and cared for.

• Hitting and spanking doesn’t work. It shows kids that it is OK to hit and hurt people. Children will learn more from what you do than from what you say (actions speak louder than words).

• Reinforce positive behavior and try to ignore or discourage unsuitable behavior. “DISTRACT & REDIRECT” — offer substitutions and distractions in a positive way when possible.

• The limits you set should be clear, consistent and as few as possible.

• Make your environment as child-friendly as possible so you don’t have to say “no” all of the time.

• Toddlers don’t like big and abrupt changes. Give some advance notice when you will be changing an activity. Try to motivate them to the next activity by talking to them as you begin: “We’re leaving the park in a few minutes'” and then, “Let’s see what we can have for dinner.”

• Praise them when they follow your limits and encourage their progress.

• Keep bribes to a minimum. Sure, you may use the strategy on occasion, but the pattern can get out of hand.

• Don’t call children “bad” or “naughty.” It may hurt their self-confidence and they may learn to believe they are really “bad.”

• Toddlers learn a little bit at a time and need constant reminders.

• Tantrums are to be expected! Try to stay calm, consistent, reassuring and wait it out.

• Save “time outs” for rare occasions. Some parents don’t use them at all!

• KEEP YOUR SENSE OF HUMOR! In the heat of the moment, this one may be hard to keep in mind, but it is so important.

Photo: © luismolinero / Adobe Stock.

Your child swearing is funny and cute when it starts. 

When your 4-year-old repeats an errant “What the hell?” or “Holy crap!” in the perfect context, it is hard not to laugh. Even funnier — a full-blown “f-bomb” in front of other kids at the playground or daycare.

I’m joking.

But, come on, it’s adorable. 

Until it isn’t. 

I am beginning to pass the discretionary line of cute-to-cringy when it comes to curse words being used by my elementary schoolers right now. And I’m unsure how to handle it. 

My two youngest children, ages 7 and 10, are not really swearing. They are just “soft swearing.” Using words like “crap,” “pissed,” “BS,” “shh,” and “freaking.” Their usage of these marginal curse words started with a few fleeting, innocent uses to emphasize a feeling. Now, they are thrown around casually and far too frequently for my tastes. During a recent week at church summer camp, my daughter was reprimanded for yelling “Oh, my God” to exude excitement.    

Who is to blame for the swearing tendencies in my youngest kids? I want to mostly blame my teens for gradually getting loose with their cursing around their younger siblings, but, honestly, I am also to blame. I am far too frequently using an “f-bomb” or “BS” to illustrate emphatic points. 

My rules for my child swearing

Should I be concerned with my kids using foul language?

Can/should rules be black and white about children cursing and using bad words?

Should similar rules apply to their parents?

Denying your child is swearing, or ever will, is crazy. So, from that reality, I believe there to be three versions of kid-cursing:

1. Swears I choose to allow (or not allow) in my house.
2. Words not permissible to use in the presence of other adults.
3. Foul language used socially with friends, teammates and/or classmates. 

Each, I gather, requires different rules from me. And, if I can be clear about those differences with my kids, my innate hypocrisy is covered. They will, no doubt, try to call me out when they slip up in using a word they have been able to use at soccer games, but not around their grandparents.

The first two versions – about a child swearing in the house and in front of other adults – are easy to manage. To me, kids routinely cursing to make a point before the college years is a no-no. While not judging other houses for letting kids throw down an “MF’er” during a heated conversation, I would prefer my kids to get into the practice of emphasizing points without swearing. The words my kids use reflect the way I speak – which, too often for me, involves colorful language I should have left out. I especially need to watch my mouth as I interact with my friends in front of my kids more. Our adult-to-adult conversations can get gnarly. All that said, to me, my children should not be swearing to or in the presence of adults, in my house or outside.

Teaching kids about cursing that happens around them socially, with their friends or at school, is much more difficult.

Over the past year, I’ve heard children at my kids’ elementary school use every bad word in the book – from those I’d consider marginal to the soap-in-your-mouth ones. My kids have watched in horror when I’ve called these potty-mouthed kids out: “Hey, watch your mouth around the school!” I find younger kids to quickly apologize for their lapse in linguistic judgment. Teens, meanwhile, flash a condescending-but-mildly-embarrassed type of look in my direction before quickly scurrying off. 

Cursing in the heat of competition

When the competitive juices are flowing on the fields of play, holding kids accountable for using foul language is much tougher. If you have a teenager, they are either talking or taking “trash” consistently – on the field, court, track, backstage, everywhere. 

I attempt to hold the line in teaching my kids to take the high road using clean language. However, certain times require some escalated, even bad, words.  Disciplining a kid for swearing during competition is far more subjective. 

If a “sh*t” comes out as a natural reaction after my son makes a bone-headed turnover, so be it. There just cannot be a rule here. Kids must learn through experience or, in this case, by making mistakes in the presence of adults whose definition of appropriate times to swear is different than mine. 

And that’s what makes this issue drip with variability. Every parent not only handles their child cursing differently, but the treatment of each instance also varies wildly by context, not just the time and place but the child’s age and level of vulgarity. For example, some parents are okay with the “s” word, but the “f” word is worthy of punishment.

This stuff is hard. 

We’re all in this together, I guess. I find comfort in the shared hypocrisy of my scolding our 15-year-old for swearing from the passenger seat when a car rolls through a stop sign in front of us while I laugh at our toddler who repeats the same curse from his car seat a few moments later.     

The are no swearing rules, after all. 

So, f*ck it. I’ll do the best that I can.  

Child swearing photo: © nicoletaionescu / Adobe Stock.