Why you should not let your four year old pick out her own clothes.
Princess
Mother knows best
5.00 am Princess wakes howling in agony saying her tummy is very sore.
5.10 am I ring my parents for advice (why should I suffer alone?) and push on a screaming Princess’s abdomen in line with instruction from Cork. “Does it hurt particularly when you press for a while and let go suddenly?” Well, it’s a bit hard to tell when she is screaming all the time.
5.15 am My instinct tells me that something is wrong and my parents say, if I’m concerned go to a doctor. I pack her into the car, leaving loving husband to mind the boys and zoom off to accident and emergency in the local hospital. Princess sobs pitifully in the back of the car.
5.20am Arrive at hospital. Carry Princess around the building looking for night entrance. Explain to her that they are very unlikely to cut her open (though in the back of my mind I am worried she has appendicitis) and she miraculously calms down and perks up.
5.25am Hand over her medical details to friendly man on the desk.
5.26am Princess lies down on examining chair in a nice kiddie friendly room and chats animatedly to the charming nurse. Otherwise A&E is deserted. I marvel at its cleanliness and the efficiency of the Belgian health system. The nurse takes the Princess’s temperature. 37.8.
5.34am A weary doctor, clearly roused from her slumbers, comes and does a thorough examination on the Princess and pronounces her perfectly healthy. The Princess continues to chat happily, I die of mortification.
5.50am Back home, rang father to give him an update – look, he suffers from insomnia, it’s good for him to have something to listen to other than radio 4.
6.00am Back to sleep to prepare for the rigours of a day which includes a visit to the farm and the aquarium. Motherly instinct, eh?
Love is, perhaps, a little short sighted
Her: You look beautiful, Mummy.
Me: Thank you sweetheart.
Her (anxiously): Are you going out to a work dinner?
Me (looking at my grubby work clothes which I, stupidly, wore to feed the children and put them to bed): No, sweetheart, look at me, I’m filthy.
Her: I still think you’re beautiful, especially when you smile.
Me: What a nice thing to say.
Her: I have to set Daddy a good example.
It reminds me of when I was a little girl and I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. I remember particularly once when my mother was going to a garden party; it was the early 1970s and she was wearing a maxi dress with lots of different colours, though I think large pink flowers predominated and a big floppy white hat on her long blonde hair. I can remember not wanting her to go so that I could keep looking at her all afternoon.
Membership has its privileges
On two occasions recently while Mr. Waffle and I have been putting the boys to bed, the Princess has tidied up.  Not just her mess but the mess in general. Without being asked at all. And she knows exactly where everything goes. Imagine coming back from bathing and saying good night to the boys and finding that instead of having to get down on hands and knees and put everything away, it’s all been done.  How fabulous and how kind. “Thank you, thank you†we said.  “Yes, amn’t I good†she said bursting with pride “and I’m so good, you don’t even have to say thank you to me!â€
Discipline
The mothertalk people want us to talk about discipline: I am as putty in their hands. In fact, I have been meaning to write about this for a while. You may recall that a couple of weeks ago, I said to the internet, “my daughter is stroppy, what will I do with her?”
I got some kind advice from people inside the computer but the best advice I got was from my mother and mother-in-law both of whom have the advantage of knowing her better than most. My mother said simply “you don’t praise her enough, praise her more”. I protested indignantly that I praised her plenty and am I supposed to praise her when she whacks her brother on the head? But I thought about it and now when she is bold, rather than criticising her, I try to think about some good thing she has done recently and talk about that instead. I am amazed how effective it is. I never thought that she would fall for such a transparent ploy.
My mother-in-law who is a psychologist (or mind reader as she puts it, humourously, yet somehow unnervingly) sent me a page of advice and I have found it so hugely helpful that I am going to share it with the internet. Here it is:
“I have read your plea for ideas .. I have no solutions re a young lady with such an iron will- but
have you thought of keeping a kind of diary to see if there is a pattern – certain times of the day when she gets stroppy or circumstances. It might create some “distance†for you.
“They†say try to give attention when she is being good and try to ignore (as much as you can stand) when she is being less good! Sometimes children twig the best way to get ANY KIND OF ATTENTION even being given out to – shouting etc which they seem to feel is better than nothing. I don’t think this applies to yourselves but it might be worth looking at.
In general rewards are seen in “psychology land†as being better than punishment. One reason being that parents run out of punishments and have to think up bigger and better ones! The TV might work – if used as a reward rather than its loss being a punishment – can she “earn†a treat she can choose – perhaps from among choices – see the star chart idea below.
The naughty step is not seen as the best by some child psychologists – it’s seen as isolating and cold. I think it may help the child to understand the behaviours that the parent doesn’t want but that learning should be reasonably quick.
Another thought – many children do not really know what the parents want – i.e. what is bad/good behaviour – sometimes because parents are inconsistent ( because they are particularly tired, irritable etc) It would be worthwhile perhaps checking over one of your girly post school café visits – what does she think is bad behaviour?
Personally I think you are doing a fantastic job – keeping everything afloat in a busy life – and there is wonderful warmth and fun in your interactions with the children and this can only be good.
Princess is perhaps a special case – I have witnessed her “iron will†as you put it so well – eg her insistence of bringing those wretched stones to the airport- we ignored the sounds in the back of the car as she transferred them to her bag – and left the problem for yourself and you know what happened then!
So – think of keeping a diary – both of you – it will give you a sense of control eg are there patterns that you could manage differently e.g when she is tired or you are tired?
Explore what she understands to be “bad “behaviour – are things clear in her mind.
You could use star charts (daily) for example sad/happy faces where she fills in the happy/sad details ie the mouth – turned up or down – perhaps a few tears!
Try to reward good behaviour and ignore bad – if you can manage this – ie don’t unwittingly “reward†stroppy behaviour by giving her your undivided attention when she is being trying. A diary might give you some idea of if you are falling into that trap!
I think I’ll have a cup of tea now! Looking forward so much to meeting up with you in July- the house is roomy and if the weather behaves there will be lots of distraction for the children – I am determined that you get lots of time for yourselves while we bond/rebond with the three.”
You see how nice she is about our parenting techniques, I thought I would leave that in so that you can see how wonderful we are. Also, see the bit about babysitting, I thought that I’d leave that in because I want to hold her to it.
A lot of this advice seems like common sense but, yet, it hadn’t occurred to us. I suspect the fact that it was tailored for us by someone who knows us all, made us more willing to follow it as well.
What my mother-in-law said about running out of punishments really rang true for us. The coin colere had completely lost its menace and the Princess would often say “I like the coin colere” which drove us mad with frustration. I always felt that I didn’t want to bribe her to do things but now I think I was absolutely insane. Bribery and rewards are the way of the future. They work for me. We started the happy face on the calendar on May 25 and her behaviour has improved immensely. I didn’t think that she would go for something so obvious: a smily face and after five smily faces a treat. But she did. The other morning she even said to me “the faces on the calendar is a good game, isn’t it Mummy?” And it’s not even like the treats are particularly spectacular, just things we would have given her anyway – a biscuit, some television, a little book. I’m astounded. Mind you, our calendar looks like this:
What my mother would call burning the candle at both ends (she has a special tone of voice for that)
In the past three weeks we have been to Spain, I have travelled for work, twice, I have had three delegations in Brussels and I was at work dinners on Monday and Tuesday night.  On Monday I had a migraine (I should have cancelled, why didn’t I cancel?) but I took two paracetemol and struggled on.  Stupid. More particularly since I had the rather alarming experience of not being able to talk.  I knew what I wanted to say (“pass the saltâ€) but couldn’t say it (“pash, the thank youâ€), it was a little alarming and it made me uncharacteristically silent and probably not the best dining companion for my colleagues.
On Wednesday, Mr. Waffle was travelling for work, so I picked up the boys and herself and brought them all home, fed them dinner which they refused to eat, tucked them into bed (the Princess holding out to 9.00 much to my chagrin), cleared up dinner, swept, put away toys and clothes put on the dishwasher, put on the washing machine, put on the dryer (I know, I’m pushing the climate change doomsday clock all by myself here) and at 10.30 sat down to have a nice cup of tea.  Watched some dreadful television and went to bed at 11.30 to polish off the Sunday papers savouring the unusual pleasure of being able to read in bed (I am the owl in our relationship).  Overdid the reading in bed and only turned out the lights at 12.20 and gave the boys their first bottle at 12.40.   Then all was silent and the house slept.
At 5.30 yesterday morning, I heard the patter of little footsteps. The Princess was wandering round the house hysterically looking for her father.  “He’s away†I said. “I want Daddy,†she said at the top of her voice. She was red in the face with tears streaming down her cheeks. Given the combative relationship she and her father usually enjoy in the morning, I can’t imagine why she felt he would welcome this were he, in fact, home but I suppose she was hysterical from lack of sleep.  She would not go back to bed and the boys were now roaring for my attention.  When I got into their bedroom, they were standing up in their cots chatting loudly to each other across the room (mostly they chat in animal noises – moo, ack ack, I know, baa, neigh).  I tried to persuade them back to bed but it was a forlorn hope. There we were, all up to face the day at 5.45.  The children, their evil demands granted, were in great form and played quite happily together.  I wept bitter exhausted tears in the shower listening to their happy squeals from my bed next door which, as one, they had determined was the best place to burn off their excess early morning energy.  I comforted myself with the recollection that the childminder would be coming at 8.00 and, at least, I didn’t have to get the boys dressed and heft them to the crèche.  Well, I did until she rang at 6.30 to say that she was sick (for the first time ever) and wouldn’t be able to make it.
So, we all got dressed and prepared to leave. Just thought I would mention that when I drew the curtains in the Princess’s room they fell down, and when we came to the lift some idiot had left the door open downstairs so I had to walk down 2 flights of stairs with a boy on each hip – 22.5 kilos altogether, since you ask – and their various accessories clamped in my jaws; it was that kind of morning.  As well as being the lark in our relationship, Mr. Waffle is also the ant to my extravagant, heedless grasshopper.  This is why it is necessary for him to say to me, every Wednesday when I have a half day from work “will you buy some bread this afternoon?â€Â Since he was away, I had not bought bread the previous day and the Princess needed sandwiches. I packed the boys into the buggy and we all went to the bakery on the way to school.  It began to dawn on me that though we had been up since 5.30 in the morning we were still going to be late for school which must be something of a record.  The Princess was so tired on the way that she bumped into a lamp post and a post box and I had to carry her (15kgs) weeping for much of the journey while pushing the double buggy with my other hand. I delivered her to the relative safety of the classroom, took the boys home and strapped them into the car to go to the crèche.  Although we have a childminder three days a week we pay for the crèche five days a week as back up, just in case – alas, we have no relatives in Belgium.  Possibly not alas for them. I allowed myself a moment’s smugness somewhat undercut by reflection on the Princess’s very just observation that someone would have to collect her from school, if the childminder was not there. I contemplated leaving her in the after school “garderie†but knew that she would be horrified so, dutifully, rang around babysitters until I found one available to collect her.
Finally got into the office at 9.45, bright eyed and bushy tailed and more than ready to do a full and productive day’s work.  Ahem. Is it any wonder that I decided that I’d better take today off.