Just Say No

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Oprah just ruined my kids' lives; by telling me I've been ruining them by never saying no. Well, not never -- but certainly not enough. And I know about the "no." I know you have to say no and mean no. And maybe that's why I don't say it as often as I'd like; I don't trust myself to follow through. Like one of the experts on her spoiled kids show said, when you're exhausted it's just easier to give in.

But actually I had beaten Oprah to this painful punch. Just a few days before this eye opening show, Riley and I had our first big "no" show down. I had just gotten home from work, exhausted of course, and Riley was playing with her little plastic animals. "Mama, can you hand me that kitty?" I look around for the kitty that must be, at the very least, on an unreachable shelf, if not being held captive in the coils of a cobra. But the only kitty I see is a foot away from her. "You mean that little kitty by your foot?" I ask in disbelief. She nods at me with big blue helpless eyes.

"No." There I said it. "You get it Riley." A hurricane of anger clouds those baby blues and she summons the banshee in her soul. She's sobbing and screaming, with meows interspersed (as she has not given up on her kitty alter-ego yet.) "Noooo, I want you 'a get it MAMA!"

Riley better be ready for her world to turn upside down.

I'll admit, for a second I thought about grabbing the little black cat and giving it to her. It would have been soooo much easier; we could have saved money on the pain relievers and chocolate needed to soothe my soul during this encounter, and we could have continued on our merry way. But I knew what I'd be teaching her. And that day for once, I had all the time in the world to wait her out. When she requests to be serenaded at 1AM on a work night to a tune about kitties and skunks and reindeer, it has always been much easier to concoct a song on the spot, than listen to her cry for 2 hours when I refused the ridiculous request. I've been operating under a mode of self preservation. But today I was ready to endure the battle that would surely ensue.

So she screamed and begged for me to get it for her, while my stomach knotted itself into a macrame plant holder. What to do? Walk away? Don't I need to validate that she is upset? I tell her, "I hear that you're upset Riley, but Mama is not going to pick up the kitty for you. You do it." This makes her scream impossibly louder. (Hmmm. Could Daddy give it to her without reinforcing a bad lesson?) So I call up the lessons learned from the many experts who worked with Jack when he was getting services at home after his placement on the Autistic Spectrum. He had his issues, but he never threw a tantrum like this. (She could offer seminars at her nursery school: How to Pitch a Perfect Fit.)