Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Like a Kid in a Coffee Shop


It was an unlikely group to grace a coffee shop with its presence—three generations: grandparents, parents, a boy of about five and a curly-haired girl about two years old. Before they even made it into the coffee shop just steps ahead of me, the little girl was whining and on the verge of pitching a fit. I mentally rolled my eyes—I was there to work on something with an actual deadline, having had trouble ignoring housework and laundry at home, and didn’t want the distraction of a whiney child. Then I told myself not to be that person. It’s bad enough I don’t like pets—now I’m not a fan of other people’s kids, too?

So I followed them in and got my simple cup of coffee while they discussed the menu board. The little girl kept yelling, “Mommy! Mommy! Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” No one acknowledged her demands so she just kept demanding.

I found a spot and set up my computer, but it’s a small shop and I was twelve feet at most from their table. The grandparents sat down, then the kids came to claim a chair—the same chair. The little girl made that pre-verbal “Nnnnnnnuh!” roar and pushed her brother off. Imperiously she pointed at an empty chair. He took it without complaint.

Soon Grandma was standing by the girl’s chair, telling her to sit or kneel so she wouldn’t fall. Eventually the little girl let one knee hit the seat of the chair for a moment and Grandma went back to her chair. In minutes they were at it again, and Grandma muttered something about a high chair. Grandpa said, “Or a strait jacket.” I thought that sounded like a fine idea.

When the parents joined them there was much fuss about where everyone would sit, and the little girl decided she would abandon her chair and sit on her mother’s lap, to whine and cry and yell. Half the time the mother was trying to keep the child from slithering off her lap, or guard her coffee from being knocked across the table.

Shall I quit with the blow-by-blow? I think so. It didn’t get any better. The food was not to her liking, the company not to her liking, apparently nothing met her standards. Lacking vocabulary, she cried and roared and pounded and threw.

Dad plowed through his breakfast and ignored the uproar. Mom placated, wrestled, dodged, distracted, tried everything she could. Except, of course, discipline.

Once the parents and grandparents bolted their meals, Grandma stayed behind with Dad to help him clear the incredible wasteland that had once been a table. Well, I thought she stayed to help. As soon as the mommy was out the door, Grandma began lecturing the daddy on “that’s the only way she’s going to learn. And you’re going to have to do it. That’s the only way she’s going to learn.” I listened desperately to find out Grandma’s secret to containing the little monster, but missed that part.

I heard what the daddy said, though: “You’re right. You’re right. You’re right.”
I got the feeling they’d had that conversation before—and would have it again.  

8 comments:

  1. Everyone is miserable--especially the dad, who's caught in that sticky web between mother and wife. Two to one he shoots himself before reaching forty.

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    1. Yikes, Bob! Hope you're wrong about that. Right now he's consoling himself with food, lots of food by the looks of it. They need one of those Nanny interventions, quick!

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  2. Wow! Bob will we see that in one of your dark stories, soon? Sounds like it tapped your muse a little. Valerie, this child must have been an absolute nightmare for you to comment on it in your blog, no less.

    Having been the brave one to use discipline only to get the evil eye from other patrons, I can understand the reluctance to do anything. AND you have to feel for the Dad if he's stuck between Mom, wife, and daughter. Yikes!

    Me? I'd march her little behind out of that place, breakfast or not.

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    1. Barbara, I agree. But the child was already having fits before they ever came in, and no one spoke to her about how she was to behave. They either ignored her or placated her. And neither worked!

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  3. Parenting in public can be embarassing business and most people would rather avoid and ignore the child rather than expose themselves as hard headed disciplinarians. For my generation having convictions and principals of which guide the raising of children is "Old School." We're supposed to be easy going and loving and gentle and soft - most of which kids knowingly see as weakness and use it to walk all over mom and dad. Discipline is a taboo word for parents of today. It evokes the images of belt whippings and stories of kids being trapped in closets for days on end for singing too loudly. While these fears of discipline seem whoafully hyperbolic they are in fact a polarization of how current culture views good/bad parenting.

    Andrew and I make fools of ourselves in public and at home discipling our kid. But not everyone is as secure with themselves to breach those waters and step up, in a public forum for a battle of wills with a two year old. Some people are weak of will and character and are happy to allow the youngest member of the group to call the shots.

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    1. Isn't it strange that parenting comprises such a wide range of states? Some parents are total brutes (abusive), some are total wimps. I love the Nanny shows where parents are taught to make firm guidelines and stick to them. It's usually the parent's fault if the kids are constantly out of control. Note I said constantly. Kids are not robots, and you can't stop them from ever behaving badly. (Kind of like adults?) Thanks for your comments, Melanie.

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  4. I think it's part of any 2 y.o. to test us out. I remember the day my son decided to test me. We were in a fabric store and he was screaming his head off. Everyone was staring at me in disapproval.

    Whatever a parent does in those occasions, there's no win-win. If you don't do anything, you get judged. If you discipline, you get judged.

    I decided that day, since I was going to be judged anyway, to discipline my child. I gave him a slap on his well protected bottom (pull ups were thick in those days) and have him kneel for 5 minutes. I carried out his sentence, red in the face but determined, while the whole store was looking on.

    This was the last time my son threw a tantrum in a public place. Was I judged? You bet. But the pay off was worth it.

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    1. You were brave! I usually just hauled them out of the public place and drove home, ticked off. I didn't get to go out in public very often and wanted them to behave the few times I did. (Had no second car until all three were in elementary school.)

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