Ripe for the Picking

Bug has been hitting lately. He has also become an expert at spitting, pinching, kicking, and making awful faces. This has resulted in three visits to the “principal” at his preschool, countless time outs at home, and at least one instance of missing out on play date with neighbors.

A positive discipline approach was the first line of attack. By modeling the appropriate way to deal with frustration, talking with Bug about his options, and providing time-outs, the behavior was supposed to abate. The opposite has happened. Reliance on aggression when he is feeling off-balance has become Bug’s modus operandi.

The intensity could be an expression of our son’s anxiety over our separation. I will certainly keep vigilant about this possibility. However, friends with four-year-olds and intact families give similar reports. We are probably experiencing a delightful blend of developmental stage and response to circumstances.

Yesterday, Bug was eating his oatmeal and fresh berries at breakfast. He spit at me from his chair. My new approach? Remove something appealing, immediately and with clear explanation. His berries disappeared from the table. When he came to me sobbing and ready to hit me, I said gently, “Little boys who hit and spit do not get to have their berries.”

“But I want it! I want the strawberry!” He clung to my leg and cried with that full-body despair only the smallest children are capable of tapping. I hugged him and told him I was so sorry he lost his berries. Again, though, “Little boys who hit and spit don’t get what they want.”

“But I want it!”

And this is the rub, isn’t it? He wants it. He wants that bowl of berries, wants it enough to dissolve into hysterics. But he doesn’t want it enough (yet) to restrain himself from a choice that will surely result in losing it.

The neurological tasks involved in this extended moment are stunning. Here is a child who wants incompatible things. He wants to have that fruit, but he also wants to be able to express his frustrations in familiar ways. How will he get to the other side of this problem? Numerous times a day, this little boy is pushing up against the edges of his skills and finding them lacking to meet his goals.

Despite constant reinforcement of verbal expression feelings, Bug has not yet practiced this strange language. His toe nudges the boundary between known and unknown. It is surely frightening, and I don’t blame him for wanting to retreat. When he feels distress – Mommy packing for work or a classmate taking a toy – and lifts his fist to pound out the feeling, he has a big chore. He must pause, consider the consequences, weigh options still odd and new to him, and decide what to do.

When Bug finally makes the developmental leap to the other side of hitting and spitting, he will enter yet more strange territory. Over there, he will be green again, having to learn on the job and with little experience how to speak through his feelings to achieve his desired results. He might get it wrong. He might even make things worse. This is very confusing for a little guy.

But, oh, that strawberry.

Does he want his precious object enough to let go of the familiar approach?

Desire is a tricky little devil. I want, too. I want a career lucrative enough to support my child but fulfilling enough to allow me to serve, all while enjoying the process. I don’t have it now. To have it, I have to enter the borderlands. The patois spoken there is disorienting. I know my skills are limited, but I don’t quite know what I am supposed to know. I can write like a fiend, but finishing a piece and publishing it are foreign processes. I can study hard, but how do I produce original research? My administrative proficiency is conversational, but project management, complex budget negotiations, and large team supervision require fluency.

Where the hell does a person begin?

Achieving a “balanced life” is often the excuse for staying put. Doing enjoyable, comfortable things offsets the drudgery of plugging away at necessary tasks.  If I were to undertake developing the expertise necessary for a substantial career, I would have to want it more than anything else. The hunger for it would have to eclipse my desire for long walks every night, open stretches of time to dance and write poetry, lazy weekends with my kid.  I would have to want it more than this trim body and this circle of friends.

These components of my life are not certain to disappear. But many of them might go, and I might not find them again anytime in the next decade. Yet, despite losing those things, I still might not achieve the desired result. I could get it wrong, or the situation of my life could change dramatically enough to knock me off course.

The problem is that the approaches I have used so far keep me hungry for something beyond my reach. The “balance” I have attained fixes me right here to this spot.

Right here, life is manageable and familiar.

Right here, my income cannot support my son.

Oh, that strawberry.