My Hurt Heart

We had an unplanned play date at our house for a good chunk of the afternoon today. A couple of Dan's co-workers came to our house to make a Plinko board for an upcoming golf-themed function at work (they did a great job - it looks good!), and one of them brought her two daughters (4-1/2 and 3 years old).

This was the first time the Leatherkids had met these new friends, and they got along really well right from the start.  There was no activity not done by this crew -- they played on the playset in our backyard, they dressed up in princess gowns (well, except for Cal), they rode bikes and scooters outside, they ate yogurt and grapes, they made tents with every blanket imaginable and they colored mermaid fins and tops and pinned them to their clothes (again, except for Cal).

I think it was when they were making tents that there were instances of laughter turning into tears... familiar tears... Ella's tears.  And each time, I learned from Ella that Cal was somehow behind hurting her.  The little scratch on her finger -- yep, he did it.  Her "red legs" -- yep, Cal did it.  Her sore mouth (when clarified, actually inside her mouth) -- Cal did it.

It's a fine line that we walk when dealing with this -- we don't want to encourage tattle-telling and we don't want Ella to be a pansy; yet we don't want Cal to beat his sister up. I heard the sounds of the kids playing this afternoon -- it wasn't tea-with-stuffed-animals play, it was pretty active.  It wasn't necessarily surprising that someone got kicked or bumped unexpectedly.  I didn't doubt Cal wasn't careful with his sister, so one time when Ella came down to tell on him, I called him down, too.  Instead of telling both of them to just keep their feet and hands to themselves as I had done the previous times, this time I just wanted to ask him his side of the story.

I forget which incident this was, if it was after he supposedly kicked her or after he supposedly pushed her down.  What I do recall is his reaction to my asking him about it. The kid is super-sensitive and doesn't like to disappoint us.  I had barely started my sentence (I was using the "tell-me-what-happened" angle) and he was already denying Ella's version of the story.  He told me, frustrated, that they had tried to block him from getting into her room.  He was clearly upset, crying; and he told me, "I hate you."

This wasn't the first time I've had to hear those words directed at me.  My first response was, "Cal, don't say that, I know you don't mean it."  When he said it again, I used a tactic that a friend of mine at work told me that he and his wife have used on their kids when they've said this and that I have used with Ella a handful of times.

"Cal, that hurts me.  That hurts me right here," I said sadly and very seriously, and I pointed to his heart.  I continued, "when you say that, it hurts me in my heart," and I pointed at my own heart.  I probably said this a couple more times, pointing at our hearts each time; and then I turned to the girls to tell them that they needed to let Cal play with them, that there should be no blocking of the door.  I reminded Ella how she felt when Cal and his friend did the same thing to her the previous week (which, when I said it, I didn't know that that it was necessarily true -- I think the boys were actually great with her!)

A few minutes later, Cal was still sitting next to me.  The girls had just decided to head back upstairs to continue playing and building their tent.  I asked Cal if he wanted to go upstairs with them and play, and he told me, "in a little bit."

He then turned to me, gave me a hug and said, "I love you, Mommy." And then he asked in his sweetest voice, "Did that put your heart back together?  When I said I love you?"

"It did, Cal.  My heart feels better." I told him, smiling inside that my kid had actually heard and understood me and that this tactic had actually worked.  And my heart actually did feel better.