I Know All There Is to Know About the Pushing Game
Abbie needs to stop pushing her brothers. That should be an obvious lesson for her to learn, something we should’ve pushed on her from the early days. That lesson should be learned well before age 3, and right up there with learning to walk, learning to talk, and learning to use the potty. Sadly and stupidly, we didn’t stress that lesson in her from the early days, and now we’re paying the price. I suppose the boys are paying a price too, but we have to pay the price of comforting them after they fall.
The pushing started about a year ago in the form of a game. The boys would run, Abbie would chase them, and she’d shove them when she caught them. Everyone enjoyed this game, and I’m not just being optimistically negligent when I say that. Usually the boys took a dive right before Abbie caught them, and everyone giggled as the boys hit the floor. Even when Abbie caught someone, the offended party would cry for a few seconds until he realized Abbie was after the other brother. Then he’d stand back up and run in the opposite direction, giggling in anticipation of another exhilarating dive.
We should’ve stopped this behavior immediately as it was dangerous for the boys, and it taught Abbie that pushing is an acceptable form of play with others. We fell back on under-parenting because everyone loved the game so much. When a boy hit the ground hard and started screaming, we tried scolding Abbie, but I don’t think our words affected her as we fought back our own giggles while lecturing her.
These days, the pushing game causes problems for many reasons. Abbie is a little stronger. The boys fall a little harder. I’m a little more stressed out from all the screaming. Maybe most disturbingly, Abbie thinks any time is a good time for the pushing game.
When I announced it was time to go out this afternoon, the children all ran for the downstairs garage. I waited at the bottom of the steps, children’s coats in hand, ready to wrap everyone in warmth before stepped into the cold. Ian toddled near me first, and I caught him on the steps, spinning him round to find the best angle to slip his coat over his arms. Tory ran into us as he came down the steps. Not that Tory walked down the steps; Abbie caught him running down the stairs and shoved him the rest of the way. Fortunately I caught him with my already outstretched arms as I struggled to slip Ian’s coat over his body, or else Tory would’ve landed face-first on the hard tile at the bottom of the steps.
I glared at Abbie. Abbie shot back a look of not so much malice, but delight and total ignorance in how close she came to seriously hurting her brother. I wanted to lock her in timeout, but we needed to leave, so I left her punishment at a scolding and a withering glance and loaded the car.
This scathing punishment had little effect. When we unloaded the car, Abbie continued pushing her brothers as we walked to our destination. The boys stayed on their feet because I held their coat hoods in my hands like leashes, correcting their direction when they wandered, and providing balance when Abbie pushed them against my protestations. After a couple shoves, she realized why her brothers wobbled but wouldn’t fall down. She grabbed my hand, yanked it off Ian’s hood, and shoved him face-first onto the heavily salted concrete.
I picked up a screaming Ian and glared at Abbie again. She giggled again. We were still in a hurry, so I swore that she was in big trouble when we returned home.
I know it’s not effective to punish a child long after the act. You need to deal out punishment immediately after the infraction so the child knows what they did wrong. It probably wouldn’t have been effective to put Abbie in timeout when we returned home for pushing her brothers an hour ago. Fortunately Abbie pushed her brothers again as soon as we stepped into the house, so I had a new infraction to punish. Maybe the lesson will sink in with my new over-parenting style.
The pushing started about a year ago in the form of a game. The boys would run, Abbie would chase them, and she’d shove them when she caught them. Everyone enjoyed this game, and I’m not just being optimistically negligent when I say that. Usually the boys took a dive right before Abbie caught them, and everyone giggled as the boys hit the floor. Even when Abbie caught someone, the offended party would cry for a few seconds until he realized Abbie was after the other brother. Then he’d stand back up and run in the opposite direction, giggling in anticipation of another exhilarating dive.
We should’ve stopped this behavior immediately as it was dangerous for the boys, and it taught Abbie that pushing is an acceptable form of play with others. We fell back on under-parenting because everyone loved the game so much. When a boy hit the ground hard and started screaming, we tried scolding Abbie, but I don’t think our words affected her as we fought back our own giggles while lecturing her.
These days, the pushing game causes problems for many reasons. Abbie is a little stronger. The boys fall a little harder. I’m a little more stressed out from all the screaming. Maybe most disturbingly, Abbie thinks any time is a good time for the pushing game.
When I announced it was time to go out this afternoon, the children all ran for the downstairs garage. I waited at the bottom of the steps, children’s coats in hand, ready to wrap everyone in warmth before stepped into the cold. Ian toddled near me first, and I caught him on the steps, spinning him round to find the best angle to slip his coat over his arms. Tory ran into us as he came down the steps. Not that Tory walked down the steps; Abbie caught him running down the stairs and shoved him the rest of the way. Fortunately I caught him with my already outstretched arms as I struggled to slip Ian’s coat over his body, or else Tory would’ve landed face-first on the hard tile at the bottom of the steps.
I glared at Abbie. Abbie shot back a look of not so much malice, but delight and total ignorance in how close she came to seriously hurting her brother. I wanted to lock her in timeout, but we needed to leave, so I left her punishment at a scolding and a withering glance and loaded the car.
This scathing punishment had little effect. When we unloaded the car, Abbie continued pushing her brothers as we walked to our destination. The boys stayed on their feet because I held their coat hoods in my hands like leashes, correcting their direction when they wandered, and providing balance when Abbie pushed them against my protestations. After a couple shoves, she realized why her brothers wobbled but wouldn’t fall down. She grabbed my hand, yanked it off Ian’s hood, and shoved him face-first onto the heavily salted concrete.
I picked up a screaming Ian and glared at Abbie again. She giggled again. We were still in a hurry, so I swore that she was in big trouble when we returned home.
I know it’s not effective to punish a child long after the act. You need to deal out punishment immediately after the infraction so the child knows what they did wrong. It probably wouldn’t have been effective to put Abbie in timeout when we returned home for pushing her brothers an hour ago. Fortunately Abbie pushed her brothers again as soon as we stepped into the house, so I had a new infraction to punish. Maybe the lesson will sink in with my new over-parenting style.
posted by Matt at
10:57 PM
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