The Road Rage of Parenting

When Your Kids Push Your Buttons: And What You Can Do About It
by Bonnie Harris

CHAPTER ONE

If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as infinite.
- William Blake

Molly is my teacher. She is also my daughter. She is a delightful young woman of twenty. We have a mutually nurturing relationship. But it wasn't always this way. When Molly started walking at eleven months, she began pushing my buttons. Compared to her easygoing older brother, her demands seemed unrealistic, her needs insatiable, her moods dark and unpredictable.

She usually woke crying. Her face seemed to wear a permanent pout. Power struggles were daily occurrences for the first five years of our relationship.

And I was a parent educator! I had a master's degree in early childhood education. I designed and taught parent education classes to help parents understand their children's behavior and respond respectfully.

But I wasn't doing a very good job myself.

When Molly was four she started a new preschool. Each morning she trudged into our bathroom after being dragged from her bed, her lower lip protruding as far as it would go, whining that she didn't want to go to school, that she hated school, and that I was mean to make her go. I thought she was an unreasonable slowpoke, bound and determined to ruin my day. I had fears that I had to find a new school, and that somehow this was all my fault. My daily reaction was various themes of angry impatience: “Stop whining and complaining. Hurry up. You'll be late. You've got to get dressed. Why can't you ever just be pleasant and put your clothes on? Why do we have to fight about this every morning?” You know the litany. By eight each morning, I felt like a resentful, nagging mother who should just go back to bed and start over. If only I could!

I clearly remember the morning when something switched in my head. I had been studying innate, individual temperaments of children and had begun teaching that in my classes. I knew that Molly, now age five, had a hard time with transitions in her life (moving from New York City to rural New Hampshire had already been a two-year struggle for her and wasn't over yet), but it had never occurred to me that merely waking, getting out of bed, and starting the day was a tough transition for her as well. Perhaps this was why she had always cried as a baby upon waking. School days only made it worse.

This particular morning, my learning and her struggle came together. My focus shifted from myself-my reactions, my fears, my inconvenience, my agenda-to her and her problem. Instead of thinking, “What's wrong with her? Why does she always have to do this to me? What have I done wrong?” My thinking changed to, “This is how she is. How can I help her?”

I sat down on the floor, invited her onto my lap, and said, “You really don't want to get dressed, do you?” “No,” she said.

“And you really don't want to go to school and leave me.” “No,” she said, much more fervently. “I don't blame you,” I said soothingly. “You know what? I hate getting up in the morning too.”

“You do?” She looked up at me incredulously. It had never occurred to her that anyone else suffered her plague. And it had never occurred to me to tell her.

“Yep,” I continued. “My least favorite part of the day is when my alarm goes off, and I have to pull back the covers and put my feet on the floor.”

Suddenly, we connected. She was glued. Our conversation continued as I acknowledged her frustrations and her point of view. She began to melt into my body as we sat cuddled on the hard floor in the bathroom. Shortly, we got dressed together, continuing to talk about our mutual dislike of early mornings, and started our day pleasantly. So what happened? I changed my perception of her behavior. I became more detached from her pain and discomfort. I didn't take it so personally. From this new place, I was able to support and listen to her rather than my own inconvenience. I could then create all kinds of strategies to motivate her. I could set limits on her behavior without yelling and putting her down. In short, I had defused my button and could be the parent she needed.

Now I won't tell you that from then on life with Molly was a breeze and that she never pushed another button; but mornings were much easier, our power struggles ended, and our relationship took a turn that never reversed. Most importantly, she was no longer left in a world where she felt misunderstood and unaccepted.

If it weren't for my struggles with Molly, I would never have been able to understand the struggles of the parents I teach and counsel. Molly has provided me with many opportunities. I had the choice of learning to understand her or fighting her for the rest of my life. Our battles became opportunities for my personal growth. As I grew, I could not help but see her needs and parent her in a more connected way.

Copyright © 2003 by Bonnie Harris

About the Author

BONNIE HARRIS, M.S.ED., is a parent educator, counselor, and coach who received her master's degree from Bank Street College in New York City. She founded The Parent Guidance Center and has designed numerous parenting workshops, including her popular When Your Kids Push Your Buttons™, which inspired this book. The mother of two grown children, she lives with her husband in New Hampshire.