Solo Mother

Setting limits for your children — and then sticking to them

by christina on January 27th, 2007

We had a bit of a … difficult night last night. At almost four years old, the King of Everything is perfectly capable of dressing, undressing, and redressing himself. AKA, bedtime. We’d spent a lovely evening at friends’, and it was time to get home and go to bed. He didn’t want to go to bed. He wanted to play games. He wanted to watch a movie. He wanted to read books. He did not want to go to bed.

The KoE is becoming a master negotiator: after a few offers, counter-offers, veiled threats and bottom lines, we finally agreed that, if he could get into his pj’s in a reasonable amount of time, he could watch one Mighty Mouse cartoon, but that there would be no time for books if the cartoon was truly what he wanted. He promised that he really truly wanted to watch a four minute cartoon, not read three of his beloved books. I put him in his room, took out his pyjamas, and told him that, as part of our deal, he had to put on his pyjamas, right away, or there would not be enough time for what he wanted to do. I went to straighten up a little bit. Heard weird banging noises that certainly had nothing to do with putting soft articles of clothing on a flesh-and-blood boy. Might have been how Pinocchio got dressed, but not the KoE.

I reminded him that it was very late, and that if he wasn’t naked when I came into his room, there wouldn’t be enough time for his movie. I made great big stomping noises. I hollered, “OK, here I come, I’m coming in your room now and you’d better have all your clothes off or there won’t be a movie!” and I opened the door.

He was desperately trying to get his trousers off, and it was obvious he’d waited til the door knob began to turn. I thought I’d give him credit for being partially naked, and said, “OK, that’s not really naked. It’s past your bedtime, boo. Here are your PJ’s. Put them on right now, or there won’t be enough time for movies. Do you understand me?” He nodded.

He took off the rest of his clothes, and began to play with his train set. I reminded him of the task before him and gave him one last chance. He started playing with his robot. I gathered him up in my arms, dressed him in his pyjamas, put him into his bed and turned off the light.

He was flabbergasted. Astounded, heartbroken, amazed and wounded to the core that I would actually do what I say and mean what I do. Hysterics ensued, to the proportions that probably merited a paper bag. He wailed and shuddered, begged for movies, books, anything, anything!

What he got was time spend sobbing in his mama’s arms while he made peace with the idea that if he doesn’t do what he needs to do, he doesn’t get to do what he wants to do. That his mama loves him very much, and thinks he’s wonderful, and is very sorry that sometimes, he messes up. When he finally calmed down, I dried his tears and reminded him, “Tomorrow’s a new day, boo. You get to try again. Don’t worry. Everyone makes mistakes, messes up from time to time. It’s how you learn.”

He’s dubious.

I’m sad that I’ve got to let him learn his own lessons, make his own mistakes, and deal with the consequences. I really wanted him to succeed last night. It would have been easier to cave and let him watch his movie. We both would have been happier. But what would he have learned? That his mother isn’t serious about him, about limits, and that he can always get away with something. Think about how missing this lesson of limits will fail him later in life, and I’ve got no problem being strict now.

He got into his play clothes today with a little help from his mom, and then we curled up in my bed and watched Mighty Mouse cartoons. Good job, little guy. Good job, mama.

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