Our daughter climbed into my lap, restless in the wooden pews after the hymn, she wriggled, making it difficult for me to tell for sure until in a moment of stillness. Head lice. Round two. I settled my own long hair back over my shoulders, tilting her forward on my lap, but the itch of knowing had already settled upon me.
We drove to the pharmacy to purchase a two pack of delousing formula and spent the day stripping, washing, bagging, and vacuuming all over again. Logically, my next inclination was to tell everyone I could, “HEY! HEAD LICE OVER HERE! WATCH OUT!” It never occurred to me to be ashamed, (of what exactly?), embarrassed (again, ?), or quiet (what? WHY?) If someone else’s child had it, wouldn’t I want to know (yes!), after all, if I had known, we wouldn’t be in this mess (AGAIN) now would we?
Have you ever dealt with head lice? First of all, they aren’t white dots, obvious to the eye like I’d thought for thirty some years of my life. The nits (gross) are translucent and look almost like grains of rice. Google it. Secondly, the louse (bug) is dark and fleeting, making it difficult to see without knowing just what to look for. I recognized it, that day in church, because we’d just lived this fiasco less than a month before, and the last thing I wanted was for some other family to have to deal with this. But, when I attempted to share our misfortune, I was quieted, shushed even, and told I shouldn’t talk about it. And, like so many times in my life, I complied. (And then raised cain to my family about how appalled I was.) I complied, despite the logic I found in raising awareness so that I and other parents could work together to eradicate the problem. But worst of all, I complied though my gut told me otherwise.
*
She’s a new mom, her son only a few months old, his skin still soft with down, his feet tuck perfectly below the ankles and below the knees, curled in against his mother’s chest. His cheek and tuft of dark hair are barely visible beneath the cloth that swaddles and holds him to her. This is the first time I’ve seen them since his birth. “It’s hard,” she says, smiling, but saying more than she’s voicing. Hesitating, she adds, “He doesn’t sleep well.” I watch her attempt to not let it show, but I want her to know that it is okay to let it show... to trust me with the secret that many parents share--it isn’t easy, but it’s worth it. So I respond, “It is hard, but it gets easier, and look at him! (he’s at absolute rest in her embrace) You’re doing just fine.” I can see the doubt; I can read it in her expression--the want to share, the fear of judgement--that I won’t understand. The greatest gift I can give her is reassurance.
*
No one wants to mess up, but we all do. Parenting is at best a repeated process of trial and error, what matters most is that we try, and that our children know that we try. We and our children survive in part because we learn from our mistakes, but also because our children do grow and learn to learn from their own mistakes too. There’s so much blessing in the mess-ups, and yet we carry so much shame… until our children reach an age when our shoulders slowly rise again, we feel the slightest success, realize that we’ve made it this far, and feel confidence enough to usher new parents forward.
It’s so much easier said than done, isn’t it? My intuition is strong. Not always because I sense something before it happens--although I have to say, there are times when I’m left thinking, how could you NOT see that one coming? But more because my right and wrong indicator is not only on point, but it’s also equipped with a feature that nags me until I make the right move… doing nothing is usually not an option, and going against my intuition is generally not a good decision.
When our son was still in a crib, too young to tell us his ears were hurting, he tugged and wailed, his cheeks hot and dry. We’d drive to the doctor’s office and sometimes they’d confirm our suspicions and sometimes find nothing at all. Some nights we’d know for certain, when no one else was awake but the three of us and we could do no more than rock him until morning when we’d return to the office once again. One morning, I found blood on his pillow. His eardrum burst in the night, and despite my gut’s telling me, my lack of insistence to please check one last time for sure, allowed this to happen. Intuition, I’ve realized, or maybe learned, makes me an expert--not necessarily an expert in whatever the trial of the day may be, but certainly an expert in the science of my child, my children. But when we were new to it all, and they were so very small, we hardly felt like experts, did we?
There are so many times I wish I would have listened to my gut, stood my ground for my children, or followed my own intuition instead of the advice or suggestion from strangers. I’ve often let decorum win out over my more innate instincts. Sheer self-control and sometimes fear of losing control dictated my actions in such instances. How could this have been different if I’d chosen to listen to my heart?
You know how in the Simpson’s intro, Bart’s always seen writing “I will not…” ceaselessly across the chalkboard? Every single episode he’s right back where he left off—the phrase changes, but the basic situation does not. When my son was little--his behavior was assessed throughout and at the end of the day. In preschool it was smileys. He rarely earned a whole one, sometimes out of pity they gave him a half, and usually he got nothing. In Kindergarten through 2nd grade it was the color system. Green was excellent, yellow was good, and usually he was somewhere well beyond that. Every. Single. Day. We, as parents (and grandparents too) were perplexed as to how unruly this kid could be to never stay on green, much less yellow. Ever. Two of us are educators, knowing well the rules and expectations. And we knew the kid well too. Loud. Yes. Mischievous. Sometimes. Hyper. Definitely. Concerning. Not really. Normal. Yes. (Gifted with ADHD too as it turns out). But others got so into my head that I questioned myself, our parenting, our discipline, his future. I’m not kidding. I allowed other people, people who do not eat at my dinner table or sleep under our roof to influence my impression and outlook for my son’s future and development. And there is a whole lot of shame in that. I’m his mother! And, I’m an educator. I’ve taken Developmental Psychology, Human Growth and Development. And my mom, who raised ME thank you very much and that was not easy in itself-- taught first grade for 34 years. Maybe I didn’t know what I was doing, but she definitely did!
What does this have to do with Bart Simpson? At a loss for what to do--grounding a fivesixorseven year old who excels in school despite his behavior is not very effective, I can tell you. We made him write. I’m so ashamed and embarrassed at the stupidity of it. We would have him write line after line after line “I will not talk in class” or “I will listen to the teacher” or “I will sit still in class” for no other reason than that we didn’t know what else to do, because we couldn’t understand what was “wrong” with our child. Why didn’t he just change, do whatever it was the teacher wanted, whatever it was that would keep him from getting into trouble? We did talk to him, we tried to reason with him, we took things away, we rewarded positive behaviors. We enrolled him in camps and activities that would challenge him. We felt defeated and worried until…eventually he just kind of grew up a little more, enough that he could harness his ADHD and apply himself more readily. Go figure! (Insert hands in the air in a “who knew?” gesture here.)
In March, I read an article that validated what I felt 9 years ago. The article, “4 Disturbing Facts About Preschool Suspension” was written by Rasheed Malik for AmericanProgress.org. It was forwarded to me through an educational listserv. (Divine intervention if you ask me). In it, Malik’s main idea exposes connections between Preschool suspension rates and racism. But, it also underlined a few other things specific to our experiences. First, Malik explains,
Children at the young ages of 3 or 4 often test boundaries and act out, particularly when adjusting to new social environments such as preschool. According to the American Academy of Pediatrics, it’s perfectly normal for a preschooler’s frustration or anger to manifest as physical conflict. When caregivers correct this ordinary behavior in a way that promotes empathy, it’s a healthy part of a child’s social development. Labeling a young child as…disruptive and calling parents…sends the wrong message to the child, and it could even lead to unnecessary medical or psychological interventions.
I think the American Academy of Pediatrics would agree that my kid is “normal.” Secondly, Malik speaks to another point I tried to argue all those years ago, “The good news is that with the right training and professional supports for preschool teachers, the normal yet challenging behaviors of 3- and 4-year-olds can be redirected in positive ways that help them develop the social and emotional skills necessary for learning.”
I wish that I’d done more, sooner. Repeatedly addressing these behaviors the same way didn’t fix anything; medication for a brief time and finally developing the confidence to become his advocate did. I educated myself. I talked about it. I wrote about it--adventures and misadventures. And then, he simply grew up. Now, when young moms ask me about ADHD, I tell them to embrace it. Treat it like the super power it is and love your child through it. Having consequences for inappropriate behaviors is different and more effective than color coding the behaviors. Head lice is more of an evil nemesis, but it doesn’t change the way we feel about our children, so why act as if it’s a source of shame? I say OUT WITH THE BAD -- what’s perceived as bad, in reality, is just real life--and IN with honest, open communication! We all know our lives aren’t as perfect as social media suggests! I’d much rather help others who are facing what we’ve already experienced. We’ve just begun the teen years and yet I’m more confident than ever, because of the lessons we’ve learned. After all, I know that no matter how badly we might mess up, we’ll survive it together.
Malik, Rasheed. "4 Disturbing Facts About Preschool Suspension." Early Childhood. Centers
for American Progress, 30 Mar. 2017. Web. 10 May 2017.
Or:
https://www.americanprogress.org/issues/early-childhood/news/2017/03/30/429552/4-disturbing-facts-preschool-suspension/
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