CALM DOWN: A Breath To Save A Life
Boo is screaming in frustration as she tears off the three layers of clothing I’ve just struggled her into. “I hate all that stuff! Why are you making me wear all these clothes? This is the worst day ever!” The temperature outside is dropping from a cool 57 degrees and Hubby is taking our 7- and 4-year old girls to the Stanford-Cal football game he scored tickets to at the last minute--no small feat. Her father glowers after her as she storms past. There will be tail-gating parties and other kids, cotton candy, and all the good stuff a sports game promises on a chilly autumn night. But right now my 2nd grader is slamming her foot into the floor and screeching because her laces won’t tie just right. I know that shoe is about to become the next clothing casualty. I have got to get her to CALM DOWN.
This sort of thing happens in our household more often than any parent of a high-strung kid likes to admit. Boo once spent an entire winter melting down every time she put on a sock because the seam at the toe was so annoying. I gather my wits, sit down beside her, and softly, repeatedly remind her to stay calm and to breathe. “Why do you keep on telling me over and over to stay calm?!" She emphasizes each beat by pounding her fists on the floor. I reply, "I'm not going to let you go until you can take a deep breath in." She sucks in just enough air to huff and jumps up. "Sit DOWN." She sits, hard. “I did it, didn’t I? I breathed in and out. I don’t get you sometimes!” She breaks out in a fresh storm of tears, lips turning blue from lack of oxygen. I reckon screaming KNOCK IT OFF! is likely going to be counter-productive (I know--I've tried it). What I’d really like to do is take her over my knee and show her what shouting at your mother gets you (done that, too). But authoritarianism isn’t going to work unless I’m prepared to waste one of her father’s expensive tickets and keep her home. Ultimately, she needs to learn to cope with frustration and stress. “It may not matter much today, but getting over-worked or panicking could get you hurt, one day—or worse.” I hand her a box of Kleenex. “Why don’t I tell you a story about how calming down helped me save your Uncle Mac’s life, when I was a little girl?” She shrugs, but her eyes widen behind the white flag of a tissue.
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