Putting A Stop To Grandson’s Tantrums

Every so often, a parent is presented with an opportunity to create what I call a “defining moment.”

Such “moments” set important precedents and resolve issues, thus moving the parent-child relationship significantly forward and/or in a more creative direction. The trick is to recognize any such opportunity, when it is presented, and capitalize upon it.

Such a moment recently occurred with the older of my two grandsons, Jack Henry Rosemond. His family lives minutes away, and Willie and I baby-sit on request, so our relationship with Jack is as close to “parental” as a relationship with a noncustodial grandchild can be.

Therefore, and even though the relationship is generally playful, it is inevitable that certain “understandings” will need to be reached.

Several weeks ago, Willie and I were sitting with Jack and his 6-week-old sibling, Patrick, when Jack suddenly went into “high gear.” He had been clamoring for attention while Willie and I were fixing dinner, and we had ignored him. Slightly miffed, he went for a candy jar without permission.

As his hand closed on it, mine swooped in from above and lifted the jar out of his reach.

“No candy now, Jack,” I said. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

He fell on the floor, kicking and screaming bloody murder. Willie and I had heard of Jack’s occasional meltdowns but had never before witnessed one.

“Look at that,” I said, and resumed what I was doing. Jack got up and ran into the living room, which he knows is off limits. I followed and told him to come out.

He hunched forward and screamed, “No! No! No!”

I picked him up, looked him in the eyes and said, “Yes.” He began screaming and squirming, so I turned him away from me (to avoid being clawed) and carried him out to the back porch.

There, I laid him gently on the couch and sat next to him, his body between me and the back cushions. For 15 minutes, I held him down (gently, be assured) while he kicked, twisted, screamed and raged. Every time he kicked out from under me, I grabbed his legs and hauled him back.

“We’re going to do this until you’re quiet, Jack,” I kept saying.

Finally, exhausted, he went limp. “Are you ready to get up and be a good boy?” I asked.

“Uh-huh,” he sniffled. I let him up.

For the rest of the evening, he was as good as a 32-month-old can be. He sat at the table and conversed calmly with us during dinner, played happily afterward, picked up his toys when we told him to, sat quietly on Grandma’s lap while she read him a story, and went to bed cooperatively.

Several days later, Jack was again in our care. After finishing off a bag of peanuts Grandma had given him, he helped himself to two more bags from the kitchen drawer. I saw him and told him one bag was enough, to put the other two back.

“I want more peanuts,” he said.

“Nope,” I said. “You’ve had enough. Put those back in the drawer.”

He turned to the side, dropped one bag in the drawer, slipped the other in his pocket and looked at me innocently.

“Put the peanuts in the drawer, Jack,” I said. He took off, trying to run past me.

As he dashed by, I grabbed him, and he began to scream. In one smooth motion, I laid him down on the rug and held his shoulders. “Do you remember this?” I asked.

Immediately, he stopped screaming, his eyes opened wide, and he blurted, “Uh-huh!”

I reached into his pocket, extracted the peanuts, and put them in the drawer. Jack got up and just stood there, looking by me.

“I love you, Jack,” I said.

He smiled, and that was that, which goes to show an ounce of “defining moments” is worth a pound of later disciplinary “cure.”

xxxx

The following fields overflowed: CREDIT = John Rosemond The Charlotte Observer