Emotional intelligence

Actually, Daddy, it’s a tangerine

I asked my little girl if she wanted a little orange. She loves them. Ever so polite, she said “Yes, please.” Then she added, “Actually, Daddy, it’s a tangerine.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that actually, it was a clementine, or a mandarin. Actually. I thought it was great she knew the difference between oranges and tangerines. And she told me matter-of-factly, rather than saying I was wrong.

I’m a little sad but it’s okay. 

We play Cut the Rope, a series of iPad games. It’s fun and exciting, and the levels get progressively more and more challenging. She passed me the iPad and asked me to help, so I was trying to collect the stars all while keeping the candy from going away or the Om Nom from eating it prematurely. She leaned in to kiss me, just as I figured out that level, and I missed. I looked irritated, and she backed off. “Sorry, Daddy.”  Then, a few minutes later, she said, “Daddy, I’m a little sad, but but its okay. You made me feel like I made you miss the shot. But it’s not my fault. It’s really hard. And I just wanted to kiss you. It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean to hurt my feelings.”  Wow. Pretty insightful. For a four year old. 

May I have some delicious shrimp balls?

My daughter used to tell me my shrimp balls were not as good as grandma’s. No mincing words. “Hers are better, Daddy.”  I’m glad she feels secure enough to tell me.  She even told her teachers, “My Daddy is learning how to make shrimp balls.” Recently, I made some, and I was terrified that she would not like them. “May I have some more delicious shrimp balls?”  I don’t think my shrimp balls are any better than before, but I do think my little girl is getting very emotionally aware. She cares how I feel. That’s a wonderful quality to have. 

You’re very good at that. 

When we do things together, she always compliments me. “Daddy, you’re really good at that!”  I like to think it’s because I am supportive and do the same for her. Maybe she’s just wonderful. But she doesn’t shy away from telling me, “I have sharper eyes than you.”  Or “I have a better memory than you. I can remember everything, can’t i?”

She’s four…

My little girl just had her fourth birthday. Her party went well, except that the magician was late and rude…but aside from that, the guests had fun, we had pizza and cake and lots of fun. She wanted to set up “choices” for her friends, including a “yogurt taste test” and a “music competition.” In retrospect, the yogurt taste test might have been a great idea–healthier than pizza, self contained containers, disposable, etc. Maybe next year.

She’s really growing up. When I yelled across the dark room to Siri, who mistook my verbal instructions and started playing a loud song we had not requested, she echoed me. “Siri, you’re an IDIOT!” Nothing like immediate mimicking to serve as a figurative mirror for my actions, and a reminder NOT to do anything or say anything I don’t want her to do or say.

I also told her, “I need to go running.”

“Why, Daddy?”

“So I don’t turn into a fat slob.”

“Daddy! I don’t want you to turn into a fat slob! Go running! Go!”

The resident doctor, who came in to see us for her yearly physical before the attending pediatrician, asked my little girl if she liked preschool, and if she was in preschool or prekindergarten. “Well, actually, my official day to start is next week, but I’ve been in transition. I like the nap setup better in preschool, but I think I’ll get used to the set up in prekindergarten.”

When asked, “Do you like to draw pictures?” my little girl pulled out a picture and explained it.

“Here’s a car. There’s me, driving, with my hands on the steering wheel. There is a dog in the back seat. And we’re pulling a cart behind us.”

The resident turned to us and said, “At her age, we expect her to draw an ‘X’.”

I love the way she doesn’t cry or scream when she is confronted anymore. She will say, “Oh” as if “I didn’t know that. Now, let me think about it.”

I think it is wonderful that her personality is so giving and generous. And she is so outgoing.

I use wake up time to play her different music. We just heard “You’re my inspiration” by Chicago, the band, from the 90’s. She’s thrilled when we sing out loud to songs.

One more year and she’ll be going to real kindergarten. We have to look into schools now…

Thorny issues

We have toy food. Lots of it. There are vegetables, fruits, meat, wooden “food groups” collections, condiments, salad fixings. We also have a toy kitchen with a stove, refrigerator, and oven. And a sink that doesn’t work. Somewhat jokingly, I suggested that we make “little girl soup” one day, and I put some small dolls into the pot. I added lettuce, tomatoes, and carrots. After the initial shock and horror (“Daddy, you can’t do THAT!”), now my daughter often makes “little girl soup.” Sometimes, she switches it up to make “little girl stew” with stew vegetables, and presumably, less water. I hope she doesn’t shock other kids at preschool or a playdate with her specialty.

We did a puppet show recently. During the intermission, she told me that the dinosaur was hungry, and since he was a carnivore (with sharp teeth, as opposed to an herbivore with flat teeth), he needed to eat meat. Before I could fetch the toy steak or hot dog, she had fed him one of the audience members, a bear. I protested. You can’t feed the audience to the actor! They came to see the show, not be eaten! But she told me, the other audience members could now enjoy a much better show that the dinosaur was well fed. She said, “It’s OK, Daddy. They are only toys.” So we’ve gone from cannibalism to sacrifice.

I was next surprised when the car that Doggy was driving was “stolen” by the pair of “Little Apple horse” and Unicorn, a duo of two small similar toys. She explained, “They had to steal the car, because they live far away. Really far away. They had no choice. They had to do it.” And she used her low, sad voice to explain.

I countered, “Why didn’t they ask for a ride? Why didn’t they take the bus?”

“No one would give them a ride because they don’t know them. And they have no money. So they HAD to steal the car.”

“Why didn’t they get a job? You can’t just steal someone else’s car just because you have no money and live far away!” And just how did they get here, so far from their home anyway? But my little girl wouldn’t give in. I’m not sure if the backstory comes from a story she had heard, a book, or a TV show. Or if I should be worried. But I was taken aback. Now we’ve moved on to Thelma and Louise territory.

Overall, I think my daughter has wonderful sensibilities, and she is always kind and considerate. I try to set a good example for her. I just hope I haven’t led her astray in our recent play experiences…

Ice lollies and such

We”re not British. But we watch Peppa Pig, who is. She talks about ice lollies, which are ice cream on a stick–short for ice lollipops. My little girl likes ice cream. And candy.  But not chocolates, for reasons that are unclear. Our doctor and dentist both suggest limiting those a treats for once a week rather than ad lib. And Pookie goes along with that. So we wait until Friday to get ice lollies. We even refer to Friday as ice lolly day. 

Last Wednesday, as I picked Pookie up at her preschool, she smiled and asked, “Daddy, I have an idea. Why don’t we get an ice lolly today?”  

“It’s not Friday though. We said we’d wait until Friday, didn’t we?”

“Yes, I know. But I thought it’d be nice for us to get one today. What do you think, Daddy?  Please? Pleeeeeeeease?”

“Sweetie, I think we should stick with our plan. Too many ice lollies are not good for you. Or your teeth. I don’t want you to be sick. Or unhealthy. What do you think?”

“I know, Daddy. But I really want one. Really really. Please?”

And so it went. Of course there were other pick up time activities. Like going to the bathroom before we leave (yes, she’s all set in that department, thank you. See Potty training post…), collecting her artwork for the day to take home, putting on her coat and hat and mittens. She did everything very cooperatively. More cooperatively than usual, in fact, without the usual running around for me to chase her and catch her. All the while, we were engaged in a game of ice lolly chess. 

“Daddy, one ice lolly will be OK. And then I will wait till Friday. If it’s OK with you, Daddy? Is it OK?”

I felt a sinking feeling that I had lost this one. She was persistent, yet strangely reasonable. She didn’t throw a tantrum, she kept up her smile, her cajoling. And she was convincing. Even in our back and forth, she never hit below the belt as we sparred. We were jousting. 

We walked home, and she kept up her single minded request. As we got to the store and were about to enter, she said, ” Stop, Daddy.  We don’t have to go in. I don’t really need an ice lolly. I can wait until Friday.”

I was dumbfounded. Had I been played?  Was this all a game to see whether she could get me to do something I didn’t want to do? Or had I convinced her of the wisdom of our once a week rule?  I still don’t know. 

“Sweetie, why did you say you wanted one if you really didn’t?”

“I did want one, Daddy. But you were right. I can wait till Friday.”

The rest of the walk home was as uneventful as ever. The same puddle jumping, balance beam walking of suitable terrain, holding hands to cross the street. I don’t know if I had really convinced her. Maybe she knew I didn’t want her to have one, that I reluctantly was going to give in. Or maybe she got a chance to try out her negotiation techniques. It’s been said that all human interactions involve some sort of manipulation, not only to achieve our goals but also to influence each other’s behavior. If so, maybe Pookie is practicing her skills just like her writing and drawing skills. 

So in this game of ice lolly chess, maybe we both won. 

I keep making the same mistake…but I am learning

The first time: exploring the violin

The first time was innocent enough. I played violin when I was younger, so I was excited to get a violin the right size for my daughter. We unpacked it together, took it out of the case, put rosin on the bow, and tuned the strings. Then I showed my girl how to hold the violin under her chin, and where to put her left hand to support the instrument. She was all excited when I tightened the bow, and helped her by placing my fingers as she played “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” But she was rambunctious, as usual, and I kept telling her to be careful.

“You must never touch the horsehair on the bow with your fingers. Oil from the fingers will damage the hair.”

“Be careful, just play between the bridge and the fingerboard.”

“Don’t let the violin slip from your chin. Hold it UP!”

“Careful; don’t bump the violin against the wall!”

I know, I know, even hearing it myself I knew it was too much. But we were doing so well and having such a good time. My little girl plucked the strings with her fingers.

“That’s good! That’s called pizzicato. Here, let me show you.”

My little girl put her hand up, as if to stop me. “OK, Daddy. That’s enough for today. I am going to do something else now.” And she went upstairs. She left me, just like that.

“Aren’t we going to play anymore?” I asked. No answer. I guess that was the answer. I realized, even as it was happening, that I overloaded her with information. At first it was OK, but then it got to be too much. And to her credit, she told me so.

The story, or at least this part of the story, has a happy ending. About two weeks later, after some intervening events which I will tell you about presently, we took the violin out again.

“Can I play with it?” she asked, looking me in the eyes as if to be sure.

“Sure, sweetie. Let me tune it for you.”

“No, I mean, can I play with it MY way?”

“OK, what do you mean?”

“I just want to play with it. Pluck the strings.”

“OK.”

“I don’t want to use the bow.”

“OK.”

So she took the violin, explored it front to back, plucked the strings here and there, and looked over at me to make sure I wasn’t going to take it away. She played with the violin carefully, but really explored it and examined it.

“Hey sweetie, how many strings do you have on your violin?”

“Four.” And she plucked them for me.

“Do they sound the same?”

“No, they are different. I want to bring it upstairs now. No bow.”

“OK, sweetie. Just be careful, OK?”

“OK, daddy, I won’t bang it on the walls.”

So this had a happier ending. What did I learn? I guess it was important for her to explore on her own, and to discover things without being told. Especially without being told what she was doing was wrong. She got familiar with the instrument, felt ownership, assured me she’d be careful, figured out there were 4 strings, and they sounded different. I would say that is a very successful exposure to the violin. And very different from the first exposure.

 

The second time: putting together the train set

Before I bask in the pride of being a good parent, I have to admit, I made the SAME mistake. Again. The second time, we were putting together the wooden train set she got for Christmas. I had put together the table first, and then we started on the tracks. She was opening bags, taking out trains, and I let her, since I was busy trying to put together the tracks with the roundhouse and curves, and bridges. It was hard to see, and I needed my reading glasses, which made everything else fuzzy, but no excuses. I tried to engage my girl.

“Come here, sweetie, this piece goes here. See the picture? Like this. Here, put this next piece over here.” I put it in her hand, and guided her hand to the spot. She pulled away.

“I need a snack, Daddy.”

When she got back, I continued putting pieces in her hand and making her place the tracks.

“I need some water, Daddy.”

“But you just got water and a snack!”

“I need to take a break.”

“Well, do you want to do this or not?” I became incensed. I was doing it for her, not for me. And if she didn’t want to do it….But wait, maybe I was doing it for me. So I caught myself.

“OK sweetie, let’s stop for today. We can continue this another time.” That evening, after she was asleep, I completed the entire track set and village. It wasn’t that I wanted to do it without her. It was just that it was more important that it be done so she could play with it.  I decided I shouldn’t hold the train set hostage to get her to participate. It was for her to play with, not for her to assemble.

The next morning, when she saw the completed set and village, her eyes lit up. “Can I play with it, Daddy?”

“Of course, sweetie. It’s all yours.”

After a while playing with the trains on the bridges and tunnels, she began to change the layout. “Can I move this, Daddy?”
“Yes, sweetie, do whatever you want. Let me know if you want me to help you.”

“OK. I just want you to come watch me.” So I did. I resisted the temptation to volunteer any suggestions. I was just available to help or to answer, and I paid attention to what she was doing. So far, so good.

 

The third time: making cookies

That brings is to episode 3. My girl wanted to bake cookies, and we had a lot of cookie mix. As usual, we got the mixer out together, measured out the butter, and broke the eggs. But this time, she wanted to use the cookie cutters instead of make round drop cookies. “Great!” I said. “We’ll roll out the dough like this.” She wanted to roll it out, but the rolling pin kept sticking to the dough.
“We have to add some flour to the pin so it won’t stick.”

“Oh, OK.”

“Don’t cut the cookies randomly, here and there. Cut them as close together as possible and still have complete dough coverage in the cutters. Here, like this.”

“Don’t pick it up with your fingers. See how they fall apart? Here, use a spatula.”

“Step back. You need to let me open the oven door and step back so you don’t get burned.”

She stepped back and then left the room. “Where’d you go? Don’t you want to see the cookies go in?”

“I stepped back so I wouldn’t get burned, Daddy.”

“Hey, sweetie, I’m sorry. Here I am telling you what to do too much. That takes the fun out of it doesn’t it? Sorry, sweetie. I won’t do that anymore. Let’s make another batch. This time, , I’ll flour the rolling pin, and you can roll it out and cut it any way you like.”

Why did it take me so long to get the message? Each time, she sent signals that i was going overboard. Yet, if I really learned, why did I make the same mistakes over and over? And over?

 

Lessons learned (or so I hope)

As a forgiving person, I forgive myself. I’m human, and I got carried away. But now that I know that, I want to make changes, so I can be more attuned to how I come across. I need to keep in mind what the whole purpose of my interactions are with my daughter. And I think those changes will improve me as a person in all my interactions, not just with my daughter.

As someone famous said, “We must never forget. Because if we do, we may repeat our mistakes.” Or something like that. Maybe it was “Those who do not remember history are doomed to repeat it.” The problem is, even though I DO remember, apparently that doesn’t prevent me from repeating history. So here are my reminders to myself, points to note for myself.

1. Know your audience. My girl is three years old. She is remarkably aware and communicative, but she has limits. Limits on attention span, limits on being told what to do and what not to do.

2. Be sensitive to the feedback I receive. If she needs to take a break, get some water, get a snack, it may be time to back off. There is a reason she wants or needs to get away from the situation. If it seems she doesn’t make sense, consider that as a signal that something is amiss.

3. Don’t get so caught up in the activity to the detriment of the person. Sure, I was putting together the train set for my little girl, or making cookies with her. But what is most important is her. And what she takes from the interactions. The train layout is not important. Making the best use of the dough is not important. Heck, making any cookies is not important. SHE is important. If she feels pressured, criticized, insecure, or scared by how intense Daddy becomes, none of it is worth it.

4. Little girls don’t HAVE to make sense. Yes, she wanted the violin, or the trains, or to make cookies. But holding her to it when she has lost interest (or worse, when I have become too intense) is counterproductive. She is three years old. She doesn’t have to make sense. Being logical doesn’t help a crying child. I am the adult, so I have to have more sense. I have to have enough sense for both of us. And that means stepping away from the task that has consumed me, and having the wisdom and compassion to realize that my girl, her well being, and her development, including development of healthy responses to situations, is more important than anything I am doing or we could be doing together. If I make good cookies, or put together a nice train set, but my little girl gets scared or feels bad, then I haven’t really achieved anything.

I do hope I remember next time a similar situation comes up. I know the first step to making any kind of change is to be aware. I am now much more attuned than before. All I can do is to stay aware, catch myself when i can, and stay attuned to signals. I hope this will make me a better father.

Potty progress

We’re in the midst of potty training. I know its late, as Pookie is already three years and two months, but we just haven’t gotten around to it. We decided November is the month to do it. Even though I assigned the task to a month, I kind of thought it was a binary thing. Either she’s gotten it, or not. Once she does, we’re all set. But it’s not so! That’s the confusing thing.

One day, she sits on the potty for “my morning pee,” stays dry all day, goes to the potty without event or protest, and I think “She’s got it!” Then the next day, she will say, “I pee’d already.” Or she refuses to go the bathroom. Then she wakes up in the middle of the night and says she has to go. Although I am tempted to say, “Just go, I’ll change you later,” I humor her, since I never want to discourage her from going when she says she needs to. And what do you know, she is right, she does have pee.

I’ve resigned myself to the fact that there are several important steps. These are, in no particular order (really, no order, since its not linear):

1. She feels like she needs to go.
2. She is not so absorbed in something that she ignores it.
3. She is willing to go.
4. She can make it in time.

Because Pookie is stubborn, I have to add:
5. She won’t avoid the potty just because I suggested it.

I think that we are almost there on #1. I had not thought that #3 and #5 would be a problem, but apparently they are. So that’s why I always encourage it, even when it might just be yet another ploy to stay up or not go to sleep.

I think #2 is a real issue. Last night, I raised my voice as she spilled her milk because she kicked over the cup, and then sat there and continued to watch TV while it it dripped over the table edge. “Pookie! Didn’t you see the milk spill? We have to clean it up!”

I rarely yell at her for spilling something or breaking something. I always make sure she is OK, and then I clean it up. I figure she knows its bad to spill something or break something, and that should be punishment enough. But now, I’m not so sure that’s the case. That’s why I now say something like, “It was an accident; I know you didn’t mean to break/spill/damage it. But let’s clean it up/fix it/wipe it up now. And let’s be more careful next time.” I think there should be some negative consequence, and if the internal one is not enough, I’ll just have to supply it externally.

At preschool, they don’t get upset when she has an accident, but they do make her change her own clothes. I think the idea is that it is such a hassle to change that it’s not worth it to pee on yourself, and you’d much rather just use the potty. I think there is something to negative reinforcement, just as much as the positive reinforcement. “Oh my, you did such a good job! Here’s a sticker!” I never did understand getting a sticker to pee.

I now realize that the process is not a linear one, and potty training status is not a binary one of yes or no. It is more like a perfect storm where items #1-5 have to all come together for it to work. And then it works more and more, and eventually, you don’t have to think about it. Anyway, I hope so. I have consoled myself with the thought that Pookie is smart, and there is no way she’ll be using diapers when she is 10 years old. Then I back it up to 7 years old. And then 6. And then 5. And now, maybe December or January?

Part of me secretly is afraid I’ll miss changing her diaper. But it’s a very very small part of me. Teeny actually. Most of me can’t wait.

She does listen

My 3 year old girl told me that everyday at Circle Time at preschool, the teacher asks what day of the week it is, and what everyone did at home last weekend. While I was walking her to school, I told her, “It’s Monday today. Remember, you went to Harvard Square this weekend, and went to the pirate restaurant.” We ran into a former teacher, who grabbed her, picked her up and swung her around. The teacher asked, “How was your Halloween trick or treating?” Without a second’s hesitation, she blurted out, “It’s Monday. I went to Harvard Square. And I went to a pirate restaurant!” I had no idea that she was recording our conversation in her brain so accurately! Or that she would play it back verbatim (even though it wasn’t what the former teacher asked…)

Sometimes I call things by weird names. My girl is getting so tall I was afraid she’d bump her head into the fireplace mantels, so I said, “We have to go buy ‘baby don’t bump your head’ guards.” Well, she remembered, and when we were going over our shopping list, she said, “Daddy, don’t forget the ‘baby don’t bump your head’ guards.”

We lost one

We were expecting another child, but at the ultrasound for gender, the heartbeat was gone. We had dug out the baby stuff already and were excited to find out if it would be a girl or boy.

I feel like crying but feel too empty to cry. It’s like mourning a death except for someone I’ve never met yet. What if she would have cured cancer? Or been president? Or anything else? We’ll never know. And that’s what makes it so hard. What might have been.

I had worried that I would not pay as much attention to my 3 year old once the baby arrived. Now I guess I don’t have to worry. I certainly don’t want to lose or jeopardize what I have over what might have been. But I feel guilty for feeling bad or mourning.

I now know how lucky we are with our first child. It all came do easily that I didn’t appreciate that things could go wrong. Now I know better.

And she is changing…

My little girl will be three soon. It’s hard to believe that she only recently stopped taking the bottle to bed with milk, since it seems ages ago now. It was hard at first, with cries of “I want my milk, I want my bottle. No, not the cup, the BOTTLE.” And she told me, “We have to go to the bottle store so we can buy more bottles.” But now that is all distant history.

We’re role playing now. We have magic shows, puppet shows, obstacle courses. “Daddy, when I call your name, it will be YOUR turn. And you have to do this…” The other night, she wanted to have a “safari” which to her means laying out all the many stuffed animals on the bed, looking up at the ceiling (“See the stars in the sky?”) and having a conversation. She wouldn’t let me call her by name, and I wasn’t Daddy either. She said I was Frank. And she was Joe. I played along. “So, Joe, how’s the wife and kids?” Somewhat taken aback, she quickly recovered. “Uh, OK. OK, they are fine. What did you pack to eat on our safari?”

She only has meltdowns if she misses her nap. Then all bets are off. But I know that, so I can be super patient. She enjoys looking at pictures “of when I was just a BABY!” And she is dragging around a roll pillow as her “baby.” I told her, “We have dolls, you know. Why do you want the pillow as your baby? Does it have a head?” She’d say, “I don’t want a doll. I want this baby.” It’s apparently a girl, though its name is Patrick. Actually, we are expecting again, and I think she’s picked up on it, so she is talking about “her” baby.

I commented to a friend that she is wonderful when asleep. Of course, she is wonderful when awake too. It’s just that I find it hard to concentrate or to do anything on my own with cries of “Daddyyyyyyy!” Then I think of missing my own father, who passed away, and I figure I should treasure every single moment of this tumultuous, loud, dramatic, and wonderful childhood. Because once it passes, we’re onto the next phase and this one is gone.

It’s too hard for my Daddy…

My little girl has a preschool daycare classmate whose father reads to her in Hebrew. One day, she took the book out of the classroom bookcase and asked me to read it. “I can’t, I replied. I don’t read Hebrew.” Several days later, the classmate’s friend’s father was reading the book while dropping her off. My daughter looked and said, “Oh, that’s the book that is too hard for my Daddy!” I resisted the urge to correct her, to tell her that it wasn’t too hard for me, that I don’t read or write Hebrew, that it’s just a different language. But I did none of those things. Part of me felt sorry that I was. I longer omnipotent in her eyes, but part of me thought it’s probably a good thing that she thinks that there are some things I can do, and some things I can’t, and that’s OK.

She’s practicing using new words, and in context. We were having a conversation about birds, our cat, and things in the house. She said, “There are no crocodiles. That would be …im-possible…., right, Daddy?” Then from then on, she incorporated the word more fluidly into conversation.

She has started to ask “do you know why..(something)? It’s because…” She also asked for the first time yesterday, “What does it mean if something is far away? S said I was too far away.” Maybe she wanted clarification, maybe she knows that any question like that will get her my attention. Either way is OK.

She’s growing up. What a great ride for us both.