#1. The Candy Box.
Since having children who can eat on their own, I've realized that the world is teeming with candy. Seriously. There is so much candy out there. Nearly every holiday comes with boatloads of it, and nearly every grocery store/bank/library/kids' consignment store offers enticing little bowls of it, for free. Add preschool on top of that, with treats for every single child's birthday and prizes for random school events, and you're pretty much overwhelmed by candy all the time. I read an article once about the ridiculous amounts of calories kids consume, on average, just with these little drive-by treats and random snacks. It's something like two-thirds of what they need in a day. One or two, every now and then, wouldn't be a big deal. But it's more like one or two every time you leave the house. Which, for us, is, and always has been, at least once a day.
I really want to teach my kids' to have a healthy relationship with food, and I do believe that that includes balance, and tolerance of sugar on occasion. I don't want my kids growing up thinking sugar is evil, or wrong, or even feeling like they have to work it off or atone for eating it in some way. I don't want it being a forbidden fruit that they crave constantly or binge out on when they are allowed to eat it. I don't want it being a struggle between them and me, where they want it all the time and I'm always saying no. I don't want them fighting, every single holiday/school birthday/Trader Joe's trip over how much candy they get to keep, and can they eat it right now, etc.
But obviously, I also don't want them eating it all the time. Or ruining their appetites for healthier food with it. Or thinking random pieces of candy throughout the day don't count towards the total nutrition their bodies are absorbing.
So, enter, the candy box.
Each of my kids has a box, in the pantry, where all their candy goes. Any candy they are given, ever. Samples in grocery stores, favors at parties, parts of goody bags, prizes in school--it comes home and goes in the box. I never throw it away, I never tell them they can't have it. But they never get to eat it right away. They are allowed one piece, per day, at the completion of a healthy meal (usually lunch). Lunch isn't finished? Must not be hungry enough for candy. If they have had significant sweets elsewhere, I'll usually just tell them that counts for their candy.
I don't know exactly why this has worked so well, but it has. Candy is never a fight. I never have to say no to it. The answer to candy is always yes, but it's yes-later, or yes-sometime. I never have to stress about how much they're getting for Halloween or Christmas or Seahawks Day at school, because they won't be consuming any more than their usual.
And probably one time out of three, they don't finish their lunches, and don't get candy. And for some reason, that doesn't bother them. Another one time out of three, they finish their lunches, get a piece of candy, and then ask for more cheese, or raisins, or whatever. I didn't anticipate this working so incredibly well, but it has. And I can't tell you why. Something about the candy box setup has made candy a non-issue. I think some of it has to do with the fact that the candy never goes away (or is taken away). But that's really just a guess.
And yes, I realize my kids have the opportunity to eat candy almost every day. But right now, I'm okay with that. Because it's one single piece, and I'd rather have one single piece on a regular occasion than more sporadic binges. Or, when you think about all the candy that's offered, more regular binges.
Also, I realize that you're not supposed to make kids eat all their food and then reward them with sugar. But, as with all parenting advice, I take it with a grain of salt and do what works for us. I don't feed them excessive lunches. I don't coax them into taking more bites and remind them of the promise of candy. I don't get sad or worried when they don't get dessert. They just know it's an option if their bodies are satisfied with nutrient-rich food. Neither of them like the feeling of being stuffed and they don't usually want candy enough to be uncomfortable for it. They know it's there for the next day. It's worked for us. If it stops working, we'll rethink it.
Also, I realize that you're not supposed to make kids eat all their food and then reward them with sugar. But, as with all parenting advice, I take it with a grain of salt and do what works for us. I don't feed them excessive lunches. I don't coax them into taking more bites and remind them of the promise of candy. I don't get sad or worried when they don't get dessert. They just know it's an option if their bodies are satisfied with nutrient-rich food. Neither of them like the feeling of being stuffed and they don't usually want candy enough to be uncomfortable for it. They know it's there for the next day. It's worked for us. If it stops working, we'll rethink it.
#2. Sendable Kisses and Hugs
As everyone knows, kisses and hugs cure everything. Everything. Bonks? Scratches? Owies? Hurt feelings? Gushing blood from a ruptured artery? I've got it covered.
Until we're all buckled in the car and someone manages to hit themselves in the eye with the loose middle-seat seatbelt and then there's weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth and a simple kiss would fix it all but I'm driving and I have to keep my eyes on the road and everything is ruined.
Enter: Sendable Kisses.
A scenario similar to this happened--though probably a bit less dramatic--when Peregrine was somewhere around 2, and instead of trying to console him until we got to our destination, I thought, he's 2, he'll fall for this, and so I said, "Here, P, I'll send a kiss back there, let me know when you catch it," and I kissed my hand, and closed up my fist, and threw the invisible kiss into the backseat.
He fell for it.
And now? I do this all the time. Both the kids believe in it, wholeheartedly. They catch them and everything. I can send them from the phone, if I'm not in the same place as them. If I know one of them is having a rough day when I'm at work, I will send videos of me throwing kisses to the babysitter, and they can sit on the couch and press play over and over and catch the kisses until they're tired of it.
I did it the first time on a whim. But it has seriously made my life so much easier and simpler. Both on a level of simple convenience (I'm not kidding, I can be cooking dinner, hear wailing downstairs, and yell, "I'm sending a kiss!" and they will buy it), and on a deeper level. It's a way to connect with them, and let them know, in a tangible way--because little ones need things they can touch and handle--that my love is always with them, even when my body isn't.
#3. Using the word "hiding" instead of "lost."
Anyone who has ever seen photos of Peregrine is probably aware of the ubiquitous little brown beanie monkey that accompanies him on any number of adventures. I love that monkey, because a.) he's entirely washable, b.) he's brown, so dirt doesn't show up on him pretty much ever, and c.) he's tiny, and a beanie, so he compresses easily into a suitcase or purse, and takes up virtually zero extra space.
Which basically means, he goes missing all the time. And even if he's right there in front of you, his tininess and his brown color mean he's incredibly well camouflaged. Once he ended up under the sofa, and we couldn't find him for weeks, despite looking under the sofa. Peregrine loves him. He would be devastated to lose him. But I don't even remember where he came from. I think he was taped onto the top of a shower gift, with the bow. I've scoured the internet for him, even eBay. I've never found his duplicate, anywhere. And by this time, he's so worn and floppy that Peregrine wouldn't ever be fooled by a substitute.
Which means, the first time a bedtime rolled around and we couldn't find him anywhere, everyone panicked a little. I'd dreaded that battle for a long time. And I know how terrifying, and sad, it is for a child to lose their special little friend. I mean, we're not talking a toddler tantrum about staying in bed or not getting a 384th story read to them. The emotions run a lot deeper, and sadder, when something you love and are attached to disappears.
So, in desperation, I told him it was okay, Monkey was just hiding, monkeys do that sometimes, they like to explore and sometimes they get cozy in a spot and just stay there for awhile. Peregrine, being Peregrine, bought it hook, line, and sinker, giggled a bit, and went to bed just fine.
Now, I'll admit that my son is just a wee bit gullible and tends to swallow any number of things that a more skeptical child might not. But seriously, this tiny little re-interpretation of events has prevented so much drama, and it works for Sylvia just as well. My kids have copious amounts of stuffed animals. They play with them daily, dragging them all over the house and tucking them into corners everywhere. Their mother is not the world's most meticulous housekeeper and doesn't always flush out those corners on a regular basis. Therefore, the stuffed animals appear and disappear, and you never know who you're going to find tucked in a crack behind a pillow, or, more importantly, who you're not going to find when you're filling up your bed for the night. That stuffed animals like to hide, and that some like to hide more than others, has just become one of the truths my children accept as self-evident. Obviously, the more dark and cavelike a spot in the house, the more likely an animal will want to hide there. And the smaller and floppier an animal, the more likely it is to want to hide, because it's so easy and fun.
Also: animals that need to be washed are not undergoing trauma and separation. They are taking showers, which they find immensely fun and look forward to greatly. Therefore, my children do not undergo trauma and separation when said animals are frolicking in the washing machine. Instead, they watch the wash happen as if it's on TV, and giggle with glee whenever they see the beloved animal make an appearance. No tears + half an hour of entertainment = parenting score.
The trick though, is to be absolutely sincere and very matter-of-fact, like you are preaching truth. The same voice you use when you explain the life cycle of a caterpillar or how to tie a shoe. Children quickly see through over-enthusiasm and attempts to distract them or make them stop crying. As I believe I've said before, nothing fuels a power struggle like parental desperation combined with a child's bad mood. So don't be desperate. Be practical, and explain it like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
And that, my friends, is probably the most important toddler hack of all, and it works for older children too: if you can confidently turn potential tragedies into normal (or exciting) events, they will probably believe you, and you'll at least buy yourself enough time to think of an actual solution to the actual problem. (For serious. I once got lost in my sister-in-law's neighborhood, on foot, in the freezing rain, with my four-year-old niece. We wandered around for two hours, soaked to the skin, pelted by ice and drenched by passing cars. I called it something ridiculous and matter-of-fact like "our cold adventure walk" and made out that it was something aunties and nieces do to have fun. One of us was utterly miserable. It wasn't her.)
There's more, I'm sure, but that's it for now. Happy toddler hacking!
Now, I'll admit that my son is just a wee bit gullible and tends to swallow any number of things that a more skeptical child might not. But seriously, this tiny little re-interpretation of events has prevented so much drama, and it works for Sylvia just as well. My kids have copious amounts of stuffed animals. They play with them daily, dragging them all over the house and tucking them into corners everywhere. Their mother is not the world's most meticulous housekeeper and doesn't always flush out those corners on a regular basis. Therefore, the stuffed animals appear and disappear, and you never know who you're going to find tucked in a crack behind a pillow, or, more importantly, who you're not going to find when you're filling up your bed for the night. That stuffed animals like to hide, and that some like to hide more than others, has just become one of the truths my children accept as self-evident. Obviously, the more dark and cavelike a spot in the house, the more likely an animal will want to hide there. And the smaller and floppier an animal, the more likely it is to want to hide, because it's so easy and fun.
Also: animals that need to be washed are not undergoing trauma and separation. They are taking showers, which they find immensely fun and look forward to greatly. Therefore, my children do not undergo trauma and separation when said animals are frolicking in the washing machine. Instead, they watch the wash happen as if it's on TV, and giggle with glee whenever they see the beloved animal make an appearance. No tears + half an hour of entertainment = parenting score.
The trick though, is to be absolutely sincere and very matter-of-fact, like you are preaching truth. The same voice you use when you explain the life cycle of a caterpillar or how to tie a shoe. Children quickly see through over-enthusiasm and attempts to distract them or make them stop crying. As I believe I've said before, nothing fuels a power struggle like parental desperation combined with a child's bad mood. So don't be desperate. Be practical, and explain it like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
And that, my friends, is probably the most important toddler hack of all, and it works for older children too: if you can confidently turn potential tragedies into normal (or exciting) events, they will probably believe you, and you'll at least buy yourself enough time to think of an actual solution to the actual problem. (For serious. I once got lost in my sister-in-law's neighborhood, on foot, in the freezing rain, with my four-year-old niece. We wandered around for two hours, soaked to the skin, pelted by ice and drenched by passing cars. I called it something ridiculous and matter-of-fact like "our cold adventure walk" and made out that it was something aunties and nieces do to have fun. One of us was utterly miserable. It wasn't her.)
There's more, I'm sure, but that's it for now. Happy toddler hacking!
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