When Logic Doesn't Work, Love

Sometimes I make the mistake of assuming that my children will understand and react accordingly to logic.  Yesterday after school, when I patiently and methodically reminded Elspeth of the circumstances surrounding her loss of screen time, she responded with barely concealed fury.  "Mom, sometimes you just don't make any sense!"  she fumed, slamming her backpack on the floor.

I told her I was sure that was true and I was sorry she felt that way, but it didn't change the facts and she still had no screen time.  Tell me about your day, I said, trying to change the subject.  She looked me up and down, put her nose in the air, and said, "No, I don't think I want to."

Then she spent the entire afternoon in her room, eating ice cream sandwiches and reading, which (incidentally) sounds blissful to me.

Our first daughter, Merry, made us think love and logic was the winning (and relatively easy) combination every time.  We'd explain carefully why good and obedient choices make her life easier and happier, and mostly she listened and then she followed our advice.  I thought we were AWESOME PARENTS.  But not all children are made the same, and parenting is--as a friend reminded me the other day--not for sissies.

I submit to you for your consideration last night's bedtime discussion.  As you read, ask yourself, Does logic really matter to my kids?
Scene:  Beatrix propped up by pillows, Charley the dog at her feet.  Elspeth jumps into bed, snuggles into the covers.
__
Bea:  Do you want to hear a riddle from camp?  If you know the answer, don't say--

Elspeth:  Just tell it.

Bea:  Okay, so there were two married people: Mary and Harry.  Mary was really old.  Harry left one day and when he came back, Mary was dead.  How did it it happen?  Also, there was a cat, a dog, and a fish.

Elspeth suggests complicated solutions to which Bea happily refrains: NOPE!  Elspeth suggests Mary died from natural causes, since she was old.  Bea changes the riddle to make Mary young. 

Elspeth:  You can't just change it.  Either Mary was old or--

Bea:  Yes I can.  Can I tell you the answer?  Can I?  Pleeeease?  Okay, so this is what actually happened.  Mary was the fish, and she jumped out of her bowl and died.

Elspeth:  WHAT?  That doesn't make any sense.  How is anyone ever supposed to guess that?

Bea:  Well, she was a magical fish.  Also, she was pregnant and she got a disease.

Elspeth:  What is the point of this riddle?  I mean, why even have the dog and the cat in the first place?

Bea:  Well...they're magical, too.
__
At this point I was laughing into the covers so hard that Elspeth forgot to care about whether the riddle made sense or not.

And I am reminded: logic is good and must be paired with logic, but in the end, love is always paramount.  Love makes me laugh, helps me to find solutions when there are no logical solutions left, gives me hope, helps me to forgive my kids for the way they make me crazy and forgive myself for losing my mind.

Last night at dinner, after the no-screen time battle and the ensuing holdout in her room, Elspeth and I were both weary.  So instead of correcting again or discussing the issues paramount to her personal growth and development as a responsible citizen, I just reached over at the dinner table and clasped her arm.  All her muscles relaxed and she sort of collapsed against me. I had a flash of realization: This girl is just plain tired.  She needs a snuggle.

I thought of the great interview I'd heard that afternoon with Alain de Botton and Krista Tippett.  The interview was about love and relationships, but the part that really caught me was a reference to parenting:

"By the time we’ve humiliated someone, they’re not going to learn anything. The only conditions — as we know with children, the only conditions under which anyone learns are conditions of incredible sweetness, tenderness, patience. That’s how we learn. But the problem is that the failures of our relationships have made us so anxious that we can’t be the teachers we should be."  --Alain de Botton

In this post-facts era in our country when spin matters more than truth (and nobody is better than spinning than my kids), I can't overemphasize the importance of logic, helping my kids understand that sometimes life is about choosing what is true instead of what we feel is our right.  Justice and fairness matter.

But I have found that a calm dispensation of logic can turn quickly to anger and exhaustion when we're already all worn down.
Yesterday evening reminded me that parenting is also full of miraculous, happy moments that are somehow illogical at their core. In one way, we don't deserve that kind of grace and sweetness--and yet, fundamentally, we do.  We all do.  I remind myself:  a fuller dose of love and tenderness is often just what my daughters need most.
__
You might also like: Graphs, Parenting, and Why I Want to Understand, Monday Morning Confession: Uncorking Your Spirit