“Consequences. That’s what it’s about.” We were on the daily drive to school, and my Rug rats were listening to me attentively....I hoped. I glanced in the rear-view mirror at Bali, the wild five year old. He had been throwing temper tantrums everyday when his mommy would pick him up from school; wicked tantrums out of the blue, for no evident reason other than that, with his mother, he knew he could get away with it.
“Do you understand what Mémère is saying, Bali?” I asked him now.
“I do!” interrupted Nalou, the oldest boy. “If we’re nice, we get treated nice. Those are good consequences. If we aren’t nice, then the consequences are not so good.”
“That’s right.” I answered him. “And you have the choice. You lads are pretty lucky. It’s rare any of us tell you no when you want something. But respect works both ways. If you don’t give any, you won’t receive any either.” I looked at Bali again. Was he getting it? He caught my glance in the mirror and flashed his sunny smile. What a charmer this boy is! I asked him again if he understood.
“Yes,” he replied, and repeated nearly word for word what his older brother has just said. But did he mean it?
“So what about the tantrums?” My voice wasn’t scolding, it was questioning. There was silence from the back seat. We stopped at a red light, so I was able to turn around and look straight at him. I waited. He fidgeted a moment before he shrugged, but he didn’t look away. I lifted an eyebrow.
"So? What’s the reason, Bali? Why the tantrums? Are you angry at mommy?”
“No.”
“Then why? Does it make you happy when you do that? Do you like being scolded every evening, or not being allowed to play your favorite games?”
“No.” he said again, but further explanation was not offered. I shrugged as I turned back to continue driving.
“Ah, well,” I said casually. ‘You’re the one paying the consequences. Don’t try it with Mémère though. It won’t work. And Mémère’s consequences are far worse than Mommy’s. You know that, right?” I saw him nod in agreement. Compared to their parents, I’m a harridan!
Ten minutes later we had arrived at the school. I got out of the car and opened the back door to help Bali from his jumper seat, then picked up his schoolbag and lunchbox. I was slipping the straps of his bag over his shoulders when he looked up at me, another grin on his face.
“I won’t do it anymore, Mémère.” He declared.
“No more tantrums?” I made my tone excited, happy.
“Nope. Then I’ll have good consekences!” His pronunciation was off, but his meaning was not lost.
“Alright, man! Give it here!!” I held my hand out for a high five. We slapped palms twice; he grinned at me again and ran off into the schoolyard.
This took place two weeks ago. Since then my boy has been true to his word. The first thing he does each night on arriving back from school is to run in and tell me that he had been good, that there was no tantrum. I congratulate him, and we high-five. It goes without saying that he is finding the evening’s activities more to his liking, as does the whole household.
A lesson learned. He proved it the other morning when his two year old brother deliberately threw the sipper cup of milk from his high chair onto the floor.
"Don’t do that, Tao!" Bali warned. “That’s not good for consekences!”
He looked up at me and I winked in approval, and we both SMILED.
Luv from the Bush in Quebec.
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