It was a typical weekday morning as a mom with 2 kids, 2 and under. I was fixing my coffee with one hand while trying to soothe my teething 7-month-old with the other. Clanking the spoon against the mug served as the background music to my shrieking red-faced little boy. I bounced him on my hip and poured too much cream on accident, overflowing my mug. Geez, could I not even fix myself a decent cup of coffee without making a mess?
In the middle of this chaos, I look up to see my 2-year-old’s hazel eyes, as big as saucers, welling up with tears. Over the wailing of his little brother, I raise my voice to ask him,
“What’s wrong, buddy?”
He points at the clock.
“Yes, it is 7:46.”
“Beckfad sebben-wee-oh.”
I run the sentence through my toddler translator and realize he is telling me that I am late. Breakfast was supposed to happen 16 minutes ago, at 7-3-0 and my two-year-old had noticed. Sidenote: I am now well aware that teaching my kid how to tell time on a digital clock as soon as he knew his numbers was my number one mistake, but he was my first and I was excited. It will never happen again. Ever.
This conversation occurred almost 6 years ago and I still remember it clear as day. It was that moment I realized the little boy who looked almost exactly like me was wired with a personality that was much different than my own. This disorganized, creative, idealistic girl was in charge of raising a very task-oriented, particular, type-A child, and I was terrified.
Growing Pains
Over the next two years or so, the more I got to know my son, the more confused I was. Who was this child? Where did he come from? Why did certain situations set him into a complete meltdown? He always seemed so irritated with me.
I constantly felt as if I was parenting out of a place of reaction. Up until that point, I pretty much lived my life in reaction-mode. Parenting with that mentality was clearly not working for me. I had to figure out how to parent someone I hardly understood.
With the little free time I had, I researched right-brained versus left-brained theories, took Myers-Briggs tests, and figured out our love languages. I went deep down the personality-type rabbit hole and discovered there are a whole bunch of people who are very different from myself, my kiddo included. Once I began trying to see the world through his eyes, things started to get easier.
Finding Common Ground
If you are in a similar situation, here are a few key things I learned over the years that help us meet comfortably in the middle:
- Write things down. I make a point to write almost all of my expectations down. I write down everything; house rules, daily schedules, cleaning checklists, and behavioral expectations. I have found this practice not only helps my kiddo, but it helps me stay on task as well.
- Go over the daily plan during breakfast. My kids and I discuss the coming days’ events over cheerios and yogurt almost every day. Having a general plan really seems to help everyone.
- Give plenty of time for transitions. I used to give a 10-minute warning, 5-minute warning and 2-minute warning for transitions. This is especially useful as a homeschooling mom. The extra time is essential for him to wrap up whatever he is working on and mentally prepare to move on to the next thing.
- Give choices. Being a type B person, it doesn’t matter to me the order in which we do things. I have always let him pick his own clothes, recreational activities, and the order in which we do school work. Giving my son a sense of control whenever I can is so beneficial to him.
To be honest with you, my assumptions about motherhood were wrong. It didn’t occur to me that I would have to alter my behavior in order to accommodate different personalities in my family. I didn’t realize that I would have to change. In my immaturity, I thought my children would eventually bend to accommodate me.
Our day-to-day interaction got much easier when I finally realized that I needed to change some, too. We stopped fighting each other and really began working together.
The rigidity of a schedule still freaks me out, and the thought of an egg-timer (tick-tick-tick) sends chills down my spine. Those things will never change. We compromise. We follow a more flexible but still predictable routine and use the (non-ticking) timer on the microwave.
I bend and he bends. Even now, at 8 years old, I remind him and his siblings that we are all on the same team. We all have to compromise sometimes for the greater good of the whole family. A family that welcomes all personality types with open arms.
