Tag Archives: NVR

The Crochet Conundrum: Sanity versus Presence

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If you follow me on social media, you will have seen a lot of photos of crochet lately. Have I lost the plot? Am I creating crochet orphans of my children, as my attention is drawn to the magical combination of hook and wool?

What’s with all the crochet?

Crochet Keeps Me Sane

I revived my crochet in the hope of skipping over the snacking-hour that has me dipping into highly calorific nonsense the minute Andy takes the kids to bed. And it is hard to crochet and each cheezy dibbles at the same time (unless you are using orange wool).

But in it, I found much more than just a distraction from biscuits.

  • It is utterly absorbing – my mind gets a rest from all the thoughts and problems such as my mum’s health problems
  • It is relaxing – it is a flow experience that takes over for minutes or hours at a time
  • I create something unique – an original combination of wool, hook and pattern that is practical (in winter at least)
  • It is fast – as someone who is undeniably impatient, I love making something in just a few hours (unlike books which takes years to mature)
  • I am learning new skills. Today I learnt how to start a double-crochet chain and it felt amazing to nail it (even if it’s not going to make my CV)
  • It gives me something productive to do in those few moments where I would be twiddling my thumbs or checking my phone for the umpteenth time

The Hours We Wait

As a parent, the hours of waiting (when I’m purely there in my capacity as a Bouncer) seriously add up

  • At the school gate – as they race off and play with their friends until the door opens
  • At the swimming pool – we are there way too early (soo excited to go swimming, even ten minutes of shivering as we wait cannot dull her giddiness), and it takes ages to pull skin-tight leggings over damp post-swim legs
  • At mealtimes – waiting for them to finally finish the plate or declare that they can’t eat another bite (unless there is pudding)
  • At the playgym or park – when I am there to ward off Stranger Danger, to rescue them (less often nowadays) or ferry them to the toilet

Parenting can often feel like a hundred waits a day – all strung together. Nibbles and Bubbles are at an age now when they don’t want me to play tag with them in the school playground (Mum! No! How embarrassing!), but I have to be there.

Now I get to add a few more rows to a hat or scarf, whilst looking up like a less-nervous meerkat occasionally to revel in their play, in their games, in their swinging or balancing as the sun catches my face.

Sanity Versus Presence

Recently I commented to Sarah Fisher (author of Connective Parenting) that I was concerned that my Parental Presence was suffering as a result of my current crochet fad. Parental Presence is the true gift of your unwavering, undivided, unhurried attention that lets them know that you care, that they matter etc.

Her reply (which inspired this blog) was “Ah the balance of sanity vs presence”

How can I be sure that my crochet (or tweeting, or next hobby) is positive for the whole family, rather than just positive for me?

  • Do I still pay attention to my children? Am I emotionally available to them when they need to be heard, listened to, to talk, to share, to ask for help (or do I tell them to go away as I. Am. Busy?)
  • Do I ensure that I give my children my undivided (hooks down, wool out of sight) attention at both the start and the finish of each day?
  • Do I wait for my children to decide that they do not want my attention/ energy before I pick up my hooks/ phone etc?
  • Do I spend more time (when the kids are around) with them or with my hooks?

I haven’t always got it right (I told Andy that I was busy just last night, counting stitches as it happened). And that last one had me responding with an Oh (followed by ouch) which tells me that recently the balance has been in favour of crochet rather than them.

Yet the truth is, that whether I am ready for them to grow up or not, Nibbles and Bubbles need (and want) me less and less these days.

They are more independent, more self assured, keener to do things on their own. Bubbles loves to spend time at her (new) desk in her bedroom, reading, writing and more. Nibbles loves to play, but often on his own rather than with me. And in that gap, in that new space in our family, I have rediscovered a love of crochet. I just have to make sure that it doesn’t nudge the other fledglings out of the nest, like an oversized cuckoo.

So I am setting out my stall in front of you, my audience, as you are my witness:

I choose both – my kids and crochet, parental presence and sanity.

 

 

 

 

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TP pie chart for a day

You Are More Therapeutic Than You Think

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You think you’re getting it all wrong. You feel like a failure. You want to be a fabulous therapeutic parent (TP) but you messed up. (Again.) You ask yourself When Will I Get This Right?

You rate yourself as a rubbish parent. 1 star. On a good day. (Blah blah woe is me blah)

But you’re already getting it right, far more than you give yourself credit for.

Look At Me! Look At Me!

Over the ten days of half-term, we experienced some testing days. Perhaps 3 of them. Or in other words, 70% of the time things went okay or better. Oh, I thought. It felt harder than that.

There’s more. The tricky days weren’t entirely awful. There were whole hours of peace, calm, playing, reading, eating, walking within those days that were okay. Even the hard days were good about 70% of the time.

So it would be more accurate to say that half term was ~5% awful, 95% not-bad, good or surprisingly good, occasionally jaw droppingly cute. Yet it didn’t feel like that.

Why not?

Apparently we are hardwired to remember bad times up to three times more than good times. Helpful? Nope. Those not-so-good memories bounce around our minds, jumping up and screaming Look At Me! whilst the lovely ones melt into the past like steam off that cup of tea you made- gah, cold again?

Savouring My TP Genius Moments

I am a TP genius for at least 12 hours a day. (Go Me). Yes, my kids are asleep for those hours, but it doesn’t detract from the fact that I am brilliant then. And there’s more: when my kids are at school (6 h/day) I’m also a TP Goddess.

It’s time that I recognised that for the vast majority of my day, I am kind, patient, wise, generous, quirky, fun and more. Sometimes I am these things when the kids are around.

Pie to Decimal Places (There’s Always Room For Pie)

Being realistic (see pie chart above), I average:

  1. Genius 5% of the time. This is the parenting equivalent of a getting an unexpected pay rise at work, another week of annual leave whilst going to a 4-day week. Rare as something affordable in Smiggle, but wonderful when it happens.
  2. Good/ Great 20% of the time. I am calm, patient, playful, curious etc. Note: this is not assessed by how my children behave but how I behave towards them*
  3. Okay 50% of the time. Not perfect. Mostly calm, maybe a bit flustered. But normal, everyday parenting level of competence. I didn’t nail it, but I didn’t break it either.
  4. UnTP/ Umm 25% of the time. When I will tut and say That could’ve gone better. Let’s look on the bright side – I created a learning experience, a chance to flick to the relevant page in Sarah Naish’s A to Z of TP and get value for money out of my TP Encyclopedia.

*Too many times I’ve judged myself badly because my child was dysregulated or defiant. I cannot control them (believe me, I tried); I can only take credit for how I behave (which is a double edged sword the times they are adorable and cute).

Instead of judging myself against an expert (Dan Hughes) with over 40 years experience, based on some ridiculous idolised version of a Therapeutic Parent, my aim is to be the best version of TP Emma I can be, knowing that I am flawed in lots of quirky and interesting ways that make for better blogs and books.

Give Yourself Credit

Here’s what you can do if you find yourself wallowing in self doubt:

  • Stop aiming for being a living embodiment of Dan Hughes, Kim Golding, Ghandi or whoever you most admire in the world of adoption, therapeutic parenting, NVR etc. You are you. That is enough. No-one gets it right all the time
  • Start recognising how far you have come
  • Start celebrating the big, small and microscopic wins
  • Start focusing on all the times your little cactus flowers

Being a TP is hard enough without you getting all judgemental on yourself too. So give yourself a break. Remember this:

YOU. ARE. AMAZING.

 

 

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A man and a woman fighting over a hoody

Therapeutic Parenting Evaporates In The Heat

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‘Go and get your hoody’ asks Andy in no uncertain terms, for the Nth time (where N is a large number). Nibbles had already refused several times.

Where We Went Wrong #1 – asking more than once

Nibbles heard. Nibbles understood the request. Nibbles is not about to suddenly change his mind however many times we ask him to do it. We’re all ready to go out to a spring fair at a local village and the temperature of our family has started to heat up. Nibbles is cross and stubborn. By asking lots of times and getting the same response, Andy is now … cross and stubborn (snap).

Where We Went Wrong #2 – not focusing on our own emotional regulation/ staying calm

I then join in the unTherapeutic Parenting (unTP) by getting annoyed that Andy is not being very therapeutic.

Ah! Sweet, sweet irony.

Which Basket Is This In?

Having read Sarah Fisher’s book on Connective Parenting, we are trying to focus on the few things that truly matter. Trouble is Andy and I haven’t actually decided which TWO things to concentrate our efforts on, or shared our ideas to be certain we are both focusing on the same things. So whilst we both agree that there are certain things we need to care less about (like the way the kids eat their meals, nose picking, nail biting etc), we are far from a united front.

Where We Went Wrong #3 – not being certain what matters and what doesn’t matter. Is defiance in the small basket or not?

I get fed up with the fact that things are clearly starting to escalate, so go up to Nibbles’ bedroom to get his stupid hoody.  Andy sees it, glares at me, is incensed and throws it back upstairs because he is Not. Backing. Down.

He raises his voice and demands Nibbles get his frogging hoody because whilst it hasn’t worked for N times, it is going to work on the N+1 time. *facepalm*

Stress Accentuates The Senses

When we are in fight, flight, freeze, flop, fandango mode, the adrenalin creates lots of changes in our body, including heightening all our senses – our bodies tingle, our sense of taste and smell are keener and our hearing is more sensitive to every little crackle of the tiger in the forest. An already loud (raised) voice becomes louder still, overwhelmingly so.

‘STOP SHOUTING AT ME’ yells Nibbles, and then promptly bursts into tears.

I roll my eyes and say something to Andy in an exasperated tone about him not being very calm or therapeutic, again not exactly pouring oil on troubled waters.

By now everyone, except Bubbles who is dealing with this rather well, is huffing and sulking and not in a good mood. I dry Nibbles’ eyes, give him his darn hoody (how can an item of clothing cause so much strife?) and shuffle him off into the car before the day is laid waste in a volcanic explosion.

Repair

Once we’re all strapped in our separate seats, with zero eye contact, the danger is over and emotions start to dissipate. I apologise to Andy for talking to him in that manner. He grumpily accepts. I also apologise to Nibbles.

As we drive off, I suggest to Andy that telling Nibbles he wasn’t shouting is arguing aka escalation. He huffily replies that he was just stating a fact and then I suggest that if Nibbles thinks Andy is shouting, then Andy is shouting. Andy is not about to concede and I suggest that splitting hairs on a technicality with a six year old is Missing. The. Point.

Letting It Go

I turn on the radio in the hope that some music will release the static tension in the air. I stare out the window and wonder why we (I) keep getting it wrong.

  • ‘It feels like losing’ says Andy when we are half way to the fair.
  • ‘I know it does, but it’s not’
  • ‘It feels like it’

(repeat the above several times)

And by the time we get to the fair, it’s all over and we have a pretty good day out, with the kids laughing their socks off at a Punch and Judy show, hot dogs in the sunshine, the kids spend pocket money on slime, Bubbles gets some clip-on earrings to her pure delight, and we all come home happy.

Therapeutic Parenting is not like parenting. It involves a whole new mindset, a whole new approach, we have to let go of everything we experienced in our childhoods and try something that at times feels radically different. We both had parents with strict rules and boundaries and loosening those for our children goes against decades of conditioning.

Sometimes being TP is about letting go, letting go of our own need to be in control, letting go of our need for our children to behave a certain way, letting go of predictability, letting go of our own ego. It’s not easy, but the evidence so far is that it is worth it.

Next Time?

At the end of the day, here I am, the kids upstairs on their tablets, looking at how we might handle it differently in the future. Because this is one of Nibbles’ challenges to us at the moment, can we learn to deal (therapeutically) with his oppositional behaviour and defiance?

There is not clear answer to that yet, but here are a few thoughts we had when our brains were calm.

  • 1: HELPING HIM. ‘Let’s do it together’ The simplest, easiest solution. Nibbles hates being on his own, or doing things on his own. If one of us had just offered to go with him, this whole thing could have been over with in seconds. Stubborn? Us? *whistles and looks at the floor*
  • 2: WAITING. We could have decided to do something else (e.g. reading a story book, which both the kids love) until he was calm and ready to fetch the hoody. The fair wasn’t going anywhere, so did it really matter that we left at that precise moment?
  • 3: NATURAL CONSEQUENCES. We could have just got in the car without his hoody. I think our reluctance to follow that through is fear of him being cold (and then unbelievably whiney). The thing is, we had a fleece for him in the car, so he wouldn’t have frozen (and it was a balmy 18 deg C anyway).
  • 4: EMPATHY. We could have used sharp, staccato phrasing at a similar volume to empathise “It’s rubbish. Getting Things. Hoodies. That sucks.”

Ah hindsight. Funny how all these much better solutions arise when you are sat down at a computer not being shouted at. Which is why being CALM is the most important thing of all.

Sarah Naish in her fabulous A-Z of Therapeutic Parenting states that being calm is the biggest challenge of all. It is for us – do you agree?  Please comment below and share your thoughts.

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Escalation – A Game For All To Play

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  • Players – Two: A child who can say “no” and knows how to argue (basic technique is enough, plus a dose of sass or attitude). An adult – works best if the adult is tired, stressed (and/ or poorly), even better if played at the end of one’s tether.
  • Time – a few minutes to an hour depending on the speed of escalation
  • Game is over when – either the parent self-regulates (forfeit of game to child), or when either child or adult bursts into tears and sits on the floor with their head in their hands.

This simple game can transform tiny tasks, such as getting dressed or eating a meal, into the sort of story that your family tells for decades to come, that has the adult hanging their head in shame and may even be immortalised on social media channels such as YouTube.

How to Play

Play is generally initiated by the child, however, the game only truly begins when the adult responds by disagreeing to assert control or dominance.

Example: The adult asks the child to do something simple, e.g. brush their teeth, put clothes on, eat breakfast, stop pulling your hair.  The child responds by emphatically saying “No” or “Won’t”.

In this manner, the child extends an invitation to the adult to play the game of Escalation, should the adult respond in the appropriate manner.

Possible responses from the adult that indicate that the game has begun:

  • Yes/ Will – simple, elegant and yet a sure fire invitation to an argument your child will struggle to resist
  • Oh yes you will (adding “young man” or “young lady” scores 1 for the child as the adult is escalating too quickly, ditto any aggressive stance, hands on hips or finger wagging also scores 1 for the child)

Adult forfeits at this stage if they remain calm, refuse to be drawn into an argument, walks out of the room to calm down or attempts any self-regulatory techniques (breathing, humming, standing still, closing their eyes, listening to a favourite song). If this happens the Escalation Game is Over.

How to Start “Escalation”

The simplest way to start the game is by arguing (oh no, it isn’t). To start, one player disagrees with the other player:

  • They say No, you say Yes.
  • They say Yes, you say No.
  • They say Now, you say Never.
  • They say Will, you say Won’t.

Clearly you might clarify the argument using additional words or descriptors (such as “No I won’t wear a coat even if it’s snowing“, “Yes you bloody well will, it’s freezing out there and you will catch your death of cold“) but overall impact is one of extended, pointless, going nowhere, exhausting argument.

The argument can continue indefinitely in this manner (minutes or hours depending on the mental will and energy of the players) but is demoted to the lesser skilled Game called Contrariness.

Should anyone agree with the other person (“Yes I know that brushing your teeth is unfair/ you did it already today/ is a pain worse than death“) then the Escalation Game is Over.

Now play has commenced with an introductory argument, play move onto Escalation proper.

How to Play Escalation

Escalation involves verbal and physical ramping up of the situation, until both players are in a clear state of emotional dysregulation, shouting loudly and at its worst/ best spouting all sorts of nonsense (see Advanced Play below).

As a player, your aim is to wrestle control of the situation from the other person and have a clear upper hand.  You need to WIN, not just disagree endlessly.

Things you can do to escalate the situation include:

  • Increasing volume – your aim is to go that little bit louder or shoutier than your opponent at every volley. Do not jump to ear-splitting volume too quickly or you will lose 1 point.
  • Physical escalation – for adults this includes finger wagging, towering over your opponent in a threatening manner, hands on hips stance. For children this included stomping of feet, wild shaking of arms, angry bobbing of heads.
  • Hysteria or Melodrama – this involves spitting, head spinning, lying on the ground spinning, lying on the ground stamping arms and legs, rolling of eyes until only the whites show etc.  This is Advanced Escalation and is best reserved for trips to busy supermarkets on Saturday lunchtimes.

Bonus points – players are awarded 1 point if a bystander stops to watch, tut or frown. A further 1 point is earned if passersby swerve to avoid you, cross the road or similar (although you may be too involved in play to notice.)  5 points are earned if someone uses their mobile phone to video the Game or a neighbour knocks on the front door to ask if everything is okay.

Your aim here is to be the person who has the last word. 100 points to the person who does.

As an adult, you must never, ever, accept even the slightest responsibility for your part in escalating this situation. It is ALL. THEIR. FAULT.  If they hadn’t said no or been oppositional or just done what they were told in the first place, NONE of this would have happened.

If either player fails to get louder, or respond in due time, gives up in sheer exhaustion, or sits down in the middle of Sainsburys for a little cry, they forfeit the game.

Advanced Play

If the game does not resolve in normal play (see above) then play may move onto Advanced Play.

Assuming (and it’s pretty much a given here) that being really loud, argumentative and shouty has not resolved the situation such that your child stops, thinks for a moment (with or without stroking their chin) and then responds “You win Mummy/ Dadda. You’re so right. I don’t know why I just didn’t do it in the first place,” then you may end up in Advanced Play.  Even if it’s not on your shopping list.

Here you vainly try to wrestle control back by throwing even more of your parenting weight around (which may be even heftier given all the cake and wine you have been knocking back after days like this).

It’s time to pull out the big guns and start telling them just how you are going to make their life more miserable than this epic row in Asda has already made it. Such that you spout nonsense like: 

  • Wait until I tell your dad/ the vicar/ Nanna/ your teacher/ the dog
  • That’s IT!! You are banned from your favourite TV show/ tablet/ ipad/ hugging your teddy for the rest of today
  • As above, but longer duration such as the rest of the weekend/ month/ year/ your lifetime/ until the end of the world as we know it

Since these threats have absolutely no impact whatsoever on your child, who is currently not really listening to you anyway as their amygdala is in charge (as is yours or you wouldn’t really be punishing yourself by taking away the only sane 30 minutes of each day when your child is on their tablet or watching Scooby Doo), things may well go mental at this point.

If you are still in rant mode, then you may even end up in the Annihilation Phase.  When you say things like you will hang, drawer and quarter their favourite teddy they were given on the day of their birth/ adoption. Or you will smash their favourite toy/ tablet/ tech into a billion pieces using a coconut.  All angry raging nonsense that will only increase your guilt should you not have calmed down in time to avert such a actually-following-through-on-a-ridiculous-threat when you get home.

If you get to this level of escalation, you lose.

In fact, you lost when you started to play this stupid game in the first place. Because

NO-ONE EVER WINS THE GAME OF ESCALATION

Recently I played the game of Escalation in Tescos. I didn’t want to, or mean to, it just sort of happened when I was tired and distracted and just wanted to get home and get something to eat. I was hangry.

I said “We’re going to Tescos” and Nibbles said “No. I am not coming in.”  Which was a bit out of character and instead of sitting in the car, calming down and sorting it out before we stepped inside the shop, I made him come out and he made it perfectly clear how little he wanted to be there.

  • “No, no, no, no, no, no, no” he chanted at me, whilst pulling the trolley here, there and nowhere I wanted it to go (grr).
  • I hissed that he’d better not say “no” again.   But he’s too smart to be caught like that.
  • “Jelly, jelly, jelly, jelly” he taunted instead.
  • I gritted my teeth, I walked slowly, I tried to engage my brain, but I was fuming inside. I put him in the trolley, until he said “goody” when I quickly took him out again.
  • Bubbles stroked my arm to calm me down (and offered me an “emergency hug”). She suggested to Nibbles that he had gone “too far now, please be quiet.”
  • I gradually unravelled in the face of provocation.

Let’s just say that when he threw things at me in the car on the way home, I responded in a way I am not proud of.

It was then that I started to investigate a way of dealing with oppositional behaviour called:

Non Violent Resistance

And I hope to one day write a blog showing how I have effectively used NVR to avoid these escalations that leave me exhausted, guilty and disconnected from my children.

Because I don’t want to play this game anymore.

 

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