How Not to Call the Child You Babysit a BAD Word...

*frustrated sigh*

I have to sometimes remember children are children and don't understand grown up logic sometimes, despite the "grown up" language we use with them. One of my roommates, let's call her Big Red (hehehe...she is going to HATE me....but I relish the impending doom that awaits when I get home) had to tell me that after an emotionally and physically long day.

Remember when I told you I work three jobs? Well I was at the media company and had just a really rough headspace there and back. Though it should be said...if you want an unexpected workout, become an intern. Walking everywhere...WOWZAS, thighs and gluts of STEEL people! {blinks} Back to the point, I left the office just not wanting to do much but go home on a gloomy day and curl up to watch some Eureka and read my awesome book of the day: Sam Bourne's The Righteous Men. So when I got to March's house, I waited for an hour for March and his mom Producer Lady to get home. And wouldn't you know it...March was in a nasty mood.

Reason? Because he couldn't get a yogurt smoothie that his friend had at lunch. I know. I forget what it was like when I was six. But he was in such a blue state of mind that he actually became downright rude and didn't want to speak or play activities with me for nearly the entirety of the time I was with him, which averages about 3.5/4 hours a day Monday-Friday. So while I was PISSED, cause while he was upset at the smoothie, his mom brought him an excessive amount of potato chips to placate him, and he was still rude. Maybe it's a product of my own childhood, but when I didn't get something I wanted, I just dealt with it. This my friends, is not the case. Either way, he was still an unhappy little bug and I was really not having it.

So I did something unexpected. Which was not speaking also. Usually I tried cocking him with a game of Go Fish or I-Declare-War which always cheers him up. But for some reason, I felt that there was a lesson to be learned in here somewhere. So I decided to make myself a nice little construction paper collage which was amazing if I do say so myself. This also gave me a chance to curse him out in my head. Repeatedly. And I have to state that it was an amazing catharsis. Really. But what ended up being interesting was that March began testing me to see if I was noticing him. And I was...but I was really about taking care of me. Him mom was home so he would go and bug her then look at what I was doing. After about an hr of this...he finally wants to give his input about my collage. I said "thanks, but no thanks, I don't really talk to people who don't want to talk to me." With that he began to understand what he was doing. I hadn't planned on it, but we finally had a conversation about what it means to be rude, and to also learn that just because you don't get what you want doesn't mean you can be gloomy and unpersonable about it.

In any case, I got an awesome collage out of it and time to think about my life and how I need to also not pull a March- to not let everything get me down. Art isn't just about keeping a child creative and engaged, it's about keep thy sanity. I find this a win/win non?!

Until next time.

Language My Dear...is Everything.

"Swearing was invented as a compromise between running away and fighting."

~Peter Finley Dunne, Mr. Dooley's Opinions, 1900

Holy hell can kids curse....

Since the weather in the New York region was phenomenal this past week, I spent the beginning of this week picking March up from school and taking him to the park to burn off some impish energy. (Yes I called March an imp...and yes I am okay with that. And no you may not be...) Tuesday was no exception- we stayed in his school's play yard, with him walking around shooting a rub band gun (completely NOT my fault, though I warned him about the dangers of causing irreversible retinal damage if he wasn't careful) and myself collecting a tan. 

Anyhow, I was sitting, minding my own business- okay that was a lie I was watching BBC's Luther on my Android which is GREAT (oh Idris Elba.....*swoon*)- when I saw  some older school boys playing soccer and one was accidentally pushed to the ground in slow motion. Story goes said boy got a hand flung to the face. I know I shouldn't laugh but that was slightly amusing. What wasn't amusing was the first thing that came out of his mouth when he stared up at his friends from the ground:

"What the f*ck man?! What the f*ck?!!?!?!" -here he gestured wildly-

The only way I could react was internally thinking (though very loudly) "Aren't you ten? What f*cks do you have to give?" But it got me thinking. Dangerous I know. It got me thinking about how I've noticed more and more often that March has taken to saying "ass", "damn", "dang" and on the occasion "f*ck" and "sh*t" and laughing about it whenever I make a face. Now I've been trying to work on this with a Penny-Penalty system (the aliteration was by accident Scouts' Honor!). Whenever he says a "bad" word, he owns me a penny, and if it's really ridiculous then two pennies and so on. This system also works with rule-breaking which has been really effective. So where does a child's need to curse come from? Now coming from me who cusses like a sailor (it's ironic) but still, a serious question! I came across this amazingly well written article on Early Childhood News by Ph.D Timothy Jay about why and what causes children to curse. Very good. A bit dry, but well researched. Basically if you don't plan to read it (which I know you won't but that's okay), its main point is that children's access to so much media and surrounding environment affect how the child registers language and cursing. Kind of self-explanatory right? If you curse, they curse, etc. Though I found a really interesting counterargument on another blog/website about why this particular dad lets his son say whatever he wants. 


His argument? That words are words (which I agree...to an extent) and that if and when kids see that cursing/swearing/blaspheming as forbidden, like Eve...they will take a big ol' bite of that fruit and say "Holy Sh*t Batman, this f*cking apple tastes GREAT!" Okay so maybe not to that full extent, but you get my meaning. Now I get what Mr. Traister is saying, however...there is a certain joy that comes when you are figuring out the appropriate nature/age in which you can curse. Especially in front of your parents. My "coming of cussing age" was 19. Yes. 19. Nearly entering my third year of college. (I still don't curse in front of my dad...that...would be very bad.) 


So what does that mean when it comes to March? Well...I try not to be too "Oh goodness WHYDIDYOUSAYTHATSDMASFJDADFNASDFJ" and instead explain to him what can happen when he uses that type of language. Either way...I still get to keep the pennies he gives me :-P