THAT'S what it's all about...

Daughter #1 comes up the stairs with a resolved hard look on her face (remember she's 7, so she's deeply moving into her higher decision-making brain).  She starts packing her little pink suitcase.  I inquire about her actions, to which she responds saying, "I'm going away for a while.  I'm going to move into the tree house outside."  I find myself amused by her desire, so I start playing along about taking the sleeping bag and I ask if I can help pack some food for her.

I walk away thinking not much of that playful exchange, except that she didn't seem as light and amused by it as much as I was.

As I move about the house doing Motherly/Wifey work (I cannot confirm nor deny that I might have been playing Rock Band on our Wii), my husband calls to me that we need to call a family meeting right now and make sure Daughter #2 is a part of the discussion.

Hmmmm, this sounds very serious.

I pause what I'm doing and gather #2 (now, she's 5 and is in the beginning stages of moving into her higher more rational decision-making brain) to attend the newly called family meeting that usually occurs at our dining room table.

As we all gather, #2 is visibly agitated.  She is not wanting to look us in the eye, she is squirming. My husband is holding #1 who's big blue eyes are starting to swell with tears.

I learn #1 wants to move out of the house because #2, and I quote: "...hit me 4 times, then grabbed me and then threw a game piece at me."  The game she is referring to is called Precision, which is this annoying timed puzzle game that throws zillions of pieces in the air at the end of the allotted time.  Messy damn toy.

In that moment, I realize I missed a very important step in my interaction with #1.  I never asked her how she was feeling while she was packing her little pink suitcase.  I didn't take the time to really hear her about her body and feelings being hurt.  Oops.  Humble pie on my parent educator self that hubby clued in and I didn't.

#1 tries to speak between her escalating sad feelings and heaving sobs.  I calmly ask her to take a moment to regulate while I hear the story from #2.  I explain I need to hear both sides of the story because sometimes people have different stories and it's important to hear everyone's experience.

Suffice it to say #2 LOST it.  See, when #2 looses it, it's big.  There are screams and flailing limbs and a red hot face.  I miraculously remained calm.  As I held her flailing screaming body, I simply kept repeating, "I need to hold on to you right now.  You're really angry.  It's important to me that we talk about this.  I'm going to hold on to you."  I sent hubby to get her some crushed ice because that helps my children regulate and self-sooth (it's a sensorial tool and it works like magic for my kids).  Bless his soul he came back with two cups, one for each girl.  #2 wasn't ready to regulate yet, she was too upset.  She spat at me...

Let me take a moment to express how MUCH spitting triggers me.  In fact, I get so incredibly triggered at spit that I actually CAN'T express how much it pisses me off.  Spitting.  YUCK!  And it's such a gesture of disrespect and... well, you get the idea.

Through gritted teeth, I held her face with my hands and said, "Stop spitting.  I really don't like it when you spit."  The amount of energy it took for me to not go completely ballistic in that moment was staggering.  In fact, and I'm not exaggerating, my stomach muscles were SORE the next day from storing that angry energy in my body.  My entire core tensed.

For the record, I'm not saying it was the best strategy on my part to hold on to that toxic anger.  And anyone out there who isn't as practiced as I am at trying to manage the evil anger devil might want to seriously consider leaving the room when you feel the bubbling lava of anger.  In hindsight, I should (yes, there's that dirty word) have stepped away while I worked the anger out of my body (and working it out of my body means, jumping jacks, singing loudly, shaking my body and arms, ANYTHING physical or connected to the breath to exercise those immediate demons out of my being).

I got control of myself very quickly, which is damn good for me.  That was, perhaps, the fastest I was able to move through the "anger volcano" and come out the other side in order to access my rational brain.  Not easy, and I celebrate that I did it.  I hope next time I feel that volcano, I can perhaps even stop the actual spewing of lava.  Baby steps.

So I move #2 to my bedroom where I can sit comfortably with her.  #1 has joined us along with my husband.  We are all now together again in a calmer state.  #2's body begins to release some of it's tension.  She is sitting willingly on my lap.  I hold her close and very gently because I'm aware that I need to maintain my cool.  I want to model for my children what it means to calmly work through a conflict.  I want my child to see that there is no rupture that can't be repaired.  Most importantly I want my child to know, even though #2 lashed out physically, there is a reason, a feeling to her behavior that perhaps we can't understand until we actually find out what is going on in her mind.

What we all learned, eventually, as the girls chomped on their ice and I kept the conversation flowing by repeating back everything I heard to MAKE SURE these girls were being heard for their own experience.  We finally unlocked that #2 didn't want #1 to take one specific toy from the pile of toys they were harmoniously playing with together until that moment of rupture.  #2 eventually said, unprompted by me, "I should have told #1 that I didn't want her to take that toy. I'm sorry #1."

At this point I start to weep at the complete connection my child was deeply and genuinely making with her sister.  I swallow my tears enough to say, "#1, how does that feel when she said that?", and #1 says, "A little bit better".  I ask my girls to see if they can find a way to talk to each other and find new strategies that don't hurt other people's bodies.  I say to #2, "Can you please find a way to talk to #1 so you don't need to hit or grab or throw things?"

She nods and says, "Or pinch, or kick."

And I say, "Or spit."

And then we all chuckle.

Did I want to get angry and punish #2?  Heck yes!  Because the Dominant Paradigm has taught me from an early age "an eye for an eye".  I wanted to "teach" her that she couldn't hit or grab or spit.

Instead what I DID end up teaching her is that she can have a voice to autonomously work out a conflict in a way that allows her to hear and be heard and SHE learned BY HERSELF that she doesn't need to hit or grab or spit.

Can you see the difference?  SHE told ME the things she didn't need to do.  She understood because I allowed her to work through the conflict while guiding her to unveil the feelings under the behavior.  She learned it can feel good to talk to another person instead of getting physical.

I never ONCE told her it wasn't okay to get angry, though I make my dislike of spit very clear.  I told her we need to find ANOTHER way to express our needs.  I never judged the feelings, I simply heard that she actually HAD feelings about it.  I took the time to find out that her behavior was a result of feelings that, in the heat of the moment, she didn't know how to express.

She's learning this practice at age 5.  She's going to be an amazing adult someday.  I'm so glad there was a rupture.  It gave me an opportunity to learn who my kid was a little more.  It gave me time to prove to her that my husband and I are there for her unconditionally.  It gave me time to show her that all of us can move through this challenging world in a way that can respect others AND ourselves.

Daughter #3 slept through the whole damn thing.

Perhaps, someday, #1 and #2 will teach these wonderful things to #3.  Better yet, #1 and #2 will intrinsically do this practice and #3 will only ever know a family culture that is about expression and acceptance.

I sure do like my family culture.

Is your kid a SCREAMER?!?!?

My kid has a set of lungs on her that could rival the best opera singer at the Met.

Seriously.  I don't know about you, but when I hear the scream that threatens to pierce through the membrane of my ear drum I get triggered!!!!  And it's somehow 10 times worse when I'm trying so f'in' hard to be calm.  I'm doing all the right* things!

(* by "right" I mean all the things I believe to be the correct way to non-violently work through a conflict.  I don't mean "right" as if I'm the ultimate judge of knowing what's best, because truthfully 90% of the time I'm flying by the seat of my pants.  So, to be clear, I use the word "right" as a relative term to my own philosophical belief system... which I happen to believe is "right".  Ha-ha.)

So, when my child screams, it's a bit Jekyll & Hyde because she's needing something... we're talking, and then, her mouth opens, her face turns red, her eyes bulge and I can actually see the sound waves pouring out of her mouth as the scream pierces though my soul.

And here's the crazy part.  There is actually not much I can do about it.

The dominant paradigm might punish.  The dominant paradigm might ignore.  The dominant paradigm might turn their back and shut the kid down by walking away.  And every single one of those things will absolutely break every connection with that child.  That AND it will teach the kid a scream can actually give them space.  They will actually learn the strategy that: scream = Mom or Dad walking away from me, which is awesome when I just want them to LEAVE ME ALONE!

So what the hell am I supposed to do during the blood curdling scream?!?

Empathy.

I will be with her.  I will wait.  I will breath profusely in an effort to regulate the cortisol pulsing through my veins.  I will resist the urge to: a) yell back; b) throw something at the source of the "nails-on-a-chalkboard" sound; or, c) run as fast as I can to get away from that noise.  I will consciously ignore those urges and I will stay.

I will wait.

I will breath.

I will try to make eye contact.

I will be there for the moment she stops to quickly say, "Oh honey, this is really big for you" in a caring and empathetic way.

I did all of those things while I was driving (no small feat, thank you very much and a big pat on my back because of it!).  We were halfway home when she calmed down.  Then she said, I need a honey-butter sandwich (which is our little food code for "I'm really hungry and flooded and need to eat something that will get my blood sugar back up quickly").

I said, "Yes.  I can do that for you."

We drove in silence.  Beautiful, beautiful silence.

And you know what happened when we got home?  She sat down with me and ate her sandwich.  We talked about her day, we talked about how hungry she was, we talked about other ways of letting me know she's hungry.  And then she asked for string cheese.  And then she asked for a veggie dog (yeah, yeah, we're vegetarian).  And then we laughed and played.  And never once did we break our connection.  And I haven't heard a scream like that in a long time since that incident.

Perhaps from now on I'll pick her up from school with a honey-butter sandwich in my purse.

That's a great idea!

See, everything is a strategy to meet needs.  I just met my need for ear safety by bringing a sandwich to my child BEFORE her blood sugar levels plummet.

Now, I'm hungry.  AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGG!