Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Jo Jo to the Rescue...
I have a new favorite television show--"Supernanny." I imagine that had I watched this show before I had children, I would have thought, "How could those people raise such hellions?!" But now, in schizophrenic fashion, I careen from "How could those people raise such hellions?!" to "Yikes! That behavior happens in my house every day of the week!" Max's "backchat", as Supernanny Jo would call it, is copious, and getting worse. I confess that until Supernanny arrived in my living room, I wasn't even aware of how often it happened or how disrespectful it was.
I've wasted no time in setting new standards of behavior and implementing new techniques, including a daily schedule (more or less), a "naughty corner" and a new bedtime regimen, with less tolerance for negotiation. (Today's opportunity for self-doubt: If I call it "more or less" a daily schedule, then is it really a "schedule"?) As part of our schedule, the kids hit the bathtub at 4:30 or so, play and splash and emerge somewhat cleaner around 5:00, followed by dinner about 5:30. That leaves an hour or so for them to play with Lee before Boo goes to bed at 7:00, and Max follows at 7:45, give or take 15 minutes.
The pay-off for this routine has been huge, both in terms of my sanity and the boys' sleep patterns. (In the interest of full disclosure, I sometimes have a glass of wine while I supervise the boys in the tub, so perhaps that accounts for my improved mental health.) Reed has slept through the night 4 of the last 5 evenings, which seems nearly miraculous since it had been at least 6 months since we last enjoyed a full-night's sleep. For over a week, Max also has given up his 2-hour romps in the middle of the night. Lee and I are beginning to feel revived.
Then came today's birthday party for one of Max's classmates. The party was held at the Children's Museum from 4:00 - 5:30. Picture a crowd of 3-year old's engulfed in a sugar orgy at 5:00 in the evening. Like the Hungry Caterpillar before him, Max ate through one piece of cake, two sugar cookies, one cup of ice cream, and one box of "juice drink" before I ended his fun. He would cheerfully have scavenged crumbs of cake from the other kids' plates had I let him. At 5:30 we survived an hour-long commute in a Texas deluge to retrieve Boo from Babee and Poppi's house, putting us home for dinner shortly after 7:00.
The household schedule had become scrap paper.
Max had no appetite for dinner. Instead, in a burst of frenetic energy, he began to dismantle the contents of the wet-bar-turned-art-supply-cabinet, reaching a crescendo when he spewed a container of would-have-become-a-mosaic macaroni, beans and rice kernels throughout the kitchen and den. (After a good night's sleep, I may conclude that "on the floor" was a better place for that stuff.) That's when Lee and I determined that it was, without any doubt, time for Max to go to bed. But it took a couple of stints in the naughty corner before we got him there. When at last we were winding down our nighttime routine, I intoned a line from the Supernanny playbook in the most soothing voice I could muster: "And now it's time for you to go to sleep, darling." Max continued to fidget, powerless against the glucose overdose:
"Mommy, I think I'm going to sleep on Friday...or maybe on Saturday."
Dear God, please don't let it take that long.
I've wasted no time in setting new standards of behavior and implementing new techniques, including a daily schedule (more or less), a "naughty corner" and a new bedtime regimen, with less tolerance for negotiation. (Today's opportunity for self-doubt: If I call it "more or less" a daily schedule, then is it really a "schedule"?) As part of our schedule, the kids hit the bathtub at 4:30 or so, play and splash and emerge somewhat cleaner around 5:00, followed by dinner about 5:30. That leaves an hour or so for them to play with Lee before Boo goes to bed at 7:00, and Max follows at 7:45, give or take 15 minutes.
The pay-off for this routine has been huge, both in terms of my sanity and the boys' sleep patterns. (In the interest of full disclosure, I sometimes have a glass of wine while I supervise the boys in the tub, so perhaps that accounts for my improved mental health.) Reed has slept through the night 4 of the last 5 evenings, which seems nearly miraculous since it had been at least 6 months since we last enjoyed a full-night's sleep. For over a week, Max also has given up his 2-hour romps in the middle of the night. Lee and I are beginning to feel revived.
Then came today's birthday party for one of Max's classmates. The party was held at the Children's Museum from 4:00 - 5:30. Picture a crowd of 3-year old's engulfed in a sugar orgy at 5:00 in the evening. Like the Hungry Caterpillar before him, Max ate through one piece of cake, two sugar cookies, one cup of ice cream, and one box of "juice drink" before I ended his fun. He would cheerfully have scavenged crumbs of cake from the other kids' plates had I let him. At 5:30 we survived an hour-long commute in a Texas deluge to retrieve Boo from Babee and Poppi's house, putting us home for dinner shortly after 7:00.
The household schedule had become scrap paper.
Max had no appetite for dinner. Instead, in a burst of frenetic energy, he began to dismantle the contents of the wet-bar-turned-art-supply-cabinet, reaching a crescendo when he spewed a container of would-have-become-a-mosaic macaroni, beans and rice kernels throughout the kitchen and den. (After a good night's sleep, I may conclude that "on the floor" was a better place for that stuff.) That's when Lee and I determined that it was, without any doubt, time for Max to go to bed. But it took a couple of stints in the naughty corner before we got him there. When at last we were winding down our nighttime routine, I intoned a line from the Supernanny playbook in the most soothing voice I could muster: "And now it's time for you to go to sleep, darling." Max continued to fidget, powerless against the glucose overdose:
"Mommy, I think I'm going to sleep on Friday...or maybe on Saturday."
Dear God, please don't let it take that long.
3 Comments:
One hopes that by now, he has succumbed to insulin crash.
I watch Supernanny myself, though usually I have a sense of pity, both for the clueless parents who are struggling so hard while undermining themselves, and the "feral" children who are acting out in an attempt to make sense of a world with no structure and no consistency. Having seen several episodes, I realize that Jo's method never varies, which means the program would quickly become boring, were it not for the variety of "hellions". The extremely bright terror-girl twins of last episode were quite something.
I'm glad to hear that you are getting benefit from those techniques, and that it isn't just good editing that makes the TV episodes work out. I imagine getting some good sleep is a treasure. Though perhaps Jo should visit Max's classmate's family; what's the big idea of feeding 3-year-olds sugar after 5pm? Supernanny would be shocked, and be shouting back to her spycam video monitor!
Paul and I watched Supernanny together last night; isn't that romantic?
It's remarkable how well her techniques work, when used correctly.
I watched it last night, too--alone. Even more romantic, huh?
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