When I Was a Kid…

When I was a kid…

***Feature photo from ABC News***

When I was growing up, I heard adults (including my parents) start sentences with “when I was a kid” all the time. As a teenager, I would hear it and think, “Everything’s not like it was in the 1950s!” Now, I catch myself saying it.

We are staying in a rental beach condo for the long weekend. Our college student daughter and a friend met us here. Yesterday, my daughter texted me at 8:30am, asking, “What is that noise?” I thought it was probably people at the elevator, so I told her to turn on white noise to drown it out. This morning, she texted me again, “I hear kids outside my window again.” Her window faces the hallway. I decided to investigate, expecting to find people talking while waiting for the elevator.

I opened the door and stepped into the hallway, and I was surprised to find four little boys…ages approximately 3, 4, 8, and maybe 10…playing in the hall. Yes, playing in the hall. Don’t get me wrong. I love when children play, but in the hallway of a hotel-type building? No, thank you.

This is where “when I was a kid” comes in. When I was a kid, my parents had very strict rules about hotels. We were not allowed to run and play in hotel hallways. We were not allowed to talk loudly in the hallway or even in the room…no indoor “horseplay” at all. We were not allowed to play on the elevators. We were allowed to play as much as we wanted in the pool and in resort play areas. It was about respecting the other hotels guests. We didn’t want to disturb them. My husband and I held our daughter to the same standard and had the same rules. We didn’t even have to “enforce” the rules, because she understood she wasn’t supposed to do those things. Not once in my life have I ever had someone ask me to hold down the noise in a hotel.

I know I’m not alone about this rude behavior, because I read an article about the “most annoying” hotel guests, and you can read it here.

That brings me back to the kids in the hall. I was on the phone with a friend when the kids were playing in the hallway today, so I asked my friend what she thought. She told me her parents had the same rules as mine, and she and her husband have the same rules for their kids. Apparently, the parents of the kids in the hall this morning don’t have the same rules.

There is no way I would admonish them, but I decided to speak nicely with them. I stepped outside where the four kids under ten were playing and said, “Hey guys! I have a favor to ask. Do you mind holding the noise down a little? My kids are trying to sleep in the room right here.” They said, “Yes ma’am.” And I said, “Thank you so much. Y’all are very sweet.”

And you know what? They actually kept the noise down! They were good kids. It wasn’t their fault their parents were allowing them to engage in the most annoying hotel guest behavior. When I was a kid, that wouldn’t have happened on my parents’ watch.

Can’t You Control Your Child?!?

We’ve all been there. You’re in a store, shopping with a toddler. She isn’t behaving correctly, and you need to be firm. People are looking. You know you look like a sucker. You know they think you can’t control your child. And they’re right. You can’t control your child. And you know why? Your child is another human being who isn’t supposed to be controlled by you. Your child is supposed to learn to control herself. It’s a tough lesson for parent and child.

I was in a big box store at the beach with my daughter when she was about 2 1/2. I don’t even remember why we were there. I don’t remember if we were trying to buy groceries or what. I know she was in the seat in the grocery cart, and I was not happy with her behavior. Honestly, it has been thirteen years, so I don’t even remember what she was doing. Was she yelling? Was she throwing things? Was she crying? I just don’t remember.

I do remember my reaction.

After countless efforts to get her to behave correctly…talking with her, reasoning with her, bribing her…she was still not complying. I stopped the cart, picked her up, and carried her out of the store.

She screamed. Loudly. She thrashed wildly. People were staring. I didn’t care. I needed to get out of there with her. By the way she was acting, some folks probably wondered if I was taking someone else’s child. But mothers knew. They knew she was mine, not only because she looked just like me, but they’ve been there too. They’ve had to make a decision on how to handle a situation in front of other people, and they knew people were staring then too.

She screamed and cried and yelled all the way to the car. I even saw someone I knew as I was buckling her into her car seat. I got her buckled in and quickly closed the door…so I didn’t have to listen to the incessant wailing. I spoke briefly with the friend I hadn’t seen in seven or eight years, explaining my child was having a meltdown. This particular friend doesn’t have children, so she probably thought we both needed to be locked up.

I got into the car, and my daughter was no longer screaming. She was just sad. I didn’t even speak till we got back to the condo. When we stopped in the driveway, she was calm. She was exhausted, I’m sure, from losing control. I unbuckled her from her carseat and sat in the back seat with her, holding her in my arms and explaining that I love her, but I didn’t like the way she behaved in the store. I told her I was sad too. We cuddled for a while before going inside…and cuddled some more when we got there.

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As much as I hated that scene at the store, I loved the later result. Any time we were in a store, and she started to misbehave, all I had to do was say, “Remember that store?” She would look at me with those big brown eyes, and I could see that she remembered. She knew how to behave correctly, and she would prove it to me immediately.

Did I feel terrible about the incident? You bet…at the time. I felt like a terrible mother. Later though, I realized we both learned from it. I still hated that she had been so upset, but I was glad she remembered it, and I was really glad I never had to do it again. Yep…I never had to drag her out of a store kicking and screaming again. She remembered the lesson.

Sometimes, we have to do things we don’t enjoy in order to get to a better place. That day, my daughter and I both learned that lesson. It was a painful way to learn, but we learned.

 

 

 

 

 

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