Skip to main content

Pig Newtons and Crosswalks

"I give her a Fig Newton, just to immobilize her, just to stop it, cause she loves Fig Newtons, I go, ‘Here honey, have a Fig Newton,’ and she goes, ‘They’re not called Fig Newtons, they’re called Pig Newtons!’ and I go, ‘No they’re not, they’re called Fig Newtons.’ And right away in my head I’m like, what are you doing? Why? What is to be gained? Why do you care? Just, yeah, Pig Newtons, fine, go ahead, good luck to you, go through life, see what kind of job you can hold down with s--t like that flying around your head, I don’t care, I’ll be dead. But for some reason I engaged, ‘No honey, they’re called Fig Newtons.’ She goes, ‘No! You don’t know. You don’t know! They’re called Pig Newtons!’ And I just, I feel this rage building inside. Because it’s not that she’s wrong, she’s three, she’s entitled to be wrong, but it’s the f--king arrogance of this kid! No humility! No decent sense of self doubt. She’s not going, “Dad, I think those are Pig Newtons, are you sure that you have it right?’ She’s not saying, ‘Dad, I’m pretty sure those are Pig Newtons,’ which would be a little cunty, but acceptable, I could deal with that. She’s giving me nothing! ‘No, you don’t know!’ Really? I don’t know? I don’t know? Dude, I’m not even using my memory right now, I’m reading the f--king box that the s--t came out of! It says it! Where are you getting your information? How do you f--k with me on this? You’re 3 and I’m 41! What are the odds that you’re right and I’m wrong?"
— Louis C.K.: Hilarious, “My 3-Year-Old Is A 3-Year-Old”

Overheard today on the bus:
Indignant Lady: I was just crossing that street over there and this car was turning and he almost hit me!
Bus Driver: You probably should have stopped walking then.
Lady: But I had the right of way! He almost hit me!
Bus Driver: That is why you should have stopped and let him go. Your life is more important than hurrying across the street.Wait.
Lady: But I had the right of way!
Bus Driver: They can write that on your tombstone then. "She had the right of way."

The lady shook her head, clearly frustrated that she wasn't getting the sympathy she had anticipated, and walked to the back of the bus.

Forget the fact that turning cars and pedestrians actually share the right of way in most NYC crosswalks. (A fact that no one, particularly high strung Upper Westsiders, seems to understand.) The bus driver had a point. This lady SO wanted to be right, so much so that it put her life at risk. Who cares if you had the right of way? Guess what, in the showdown of human versus car, car usually wins. So stop walking for a second and your angry, self righteous self gets to live to see another day.

To be fair, I am no stranger to this attitude. If I think I am right, god help the person who is arguing against me. Especially if she is four.

I've read the parenting books. I know how inappropriate, not to mention fruitless, it is to argue with a child. Yet I still find myself doing it. And why? Because I-AM-RIGHT, damn it! You will be hungry if you do not finish your breakfast. You will be cold if you don't put on this jacket. You will hurt yourself if you keep jumping off the couch like that. You are tired. How do I know? Because I have been four. Have you been 37? No? Well then maybe you should trust me. Also you keep rubbing your eyes, tripping over your feet and whining. (OMG, the whining.) You know who does all that? Four year olds. The tired ones.

But there is a better way, an easier way, to be right. It goes like this:
Me: Maya, you need a jacket, its cold outside.
Maya: But I don't want to wear a jacket.
Me: Ok.

Fast forward to five minutes and two blocks later.
Maya: Mommy, I'm cold.
Me: Hmmm.
Maya: Did you bring my jacket?
Me: Yes as a matter of fact I DID bring your jacket. Why? Because I am always right. And because I love you very much and I do not want you to freeze to death.

It's hard to let go. But the thing with four year olds is life is so much better when they figure things out for themselves. We have to let them fall down. Let them be cold. Let them go hungry. Let them make those little mistakes. You can gloat quietly while your little one shivers the whole way to school. She won't die. And tomorrow she will wear pants.

I know, I know. I like to argue too. We can work on this method together.

There's a better way to be right in crosswalks too. Look both ways before crossing. Remember that rule? If you see a car, stop. You can yell at the guy later, from the safety of the sidewalk.  Go ahead, be right. But be right with all your limbs intact.

And by the way, he has the right of way too.
Really.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Ronda Rousey

I am not into celebrities. If you want to know what Snooki named her baby, or who in Tinseltown got married and divorced this weekend, don't ask me. I do not consider the people prancing around on my television role models for my daughter, representatives for women-kind, or at all relevant to real life in any way. So twerk away Miley, I do not care. But I am a martial artist. I learn arm bars and rear naked chokes. I throw punches and knee kicks. I work on traditional katas and do pushups and try to pass the guard and sweet Jesus, I even occasionally throw low kicks which other people check with their shins. (  http://www.latimes.com/sports/la-sp-ufc-20131229,0,7356884.story#axzz2os6WWXVl ) I am not a professional fighter. But I am a woman who loves to fight. And as such, I was thrilled when Dana White finally allowed female fighters into the Octagon. Seeing you armbar Liz Carmouche was incredible. And I could watch you Judo toss people onto the mat all day long. You are a tr

November 20th

I am going to tell you a secret.  The name of your school does not matter. The patch you wear on your uniform does not matter. The belt you tie around your waist, the color of your gi, the medals on your wall, none of these things matter.  All that matters is the sweat on the floor. Period. I am not saying that you should not be proud of those things. You earned them and they deserve to be celebrated.  I am not saying that all dojos are the same. They aren't. But none of that matters. What matters is that you did one more pushup that night. When you thought you were done, you did one more.  What matters is that you kept fighting, even though he had you pushed up against the wall and for a moment there you were pretty sure he forgot who you were. He certainly forgot how small you were, yet you kept fighting, or at least you kept your hands up and waited for the bell to ring. You didn't quit. What matters is that you went to class. When you would really rather be on

Failure to Progress

This morning I woke up thinking "Hey it has been awhile since I have written a blog post. Lets do that!" (Well to be honest, my first thought was "Cofffeeeeee." But after that it was all about writing.) It is Thursday, which means it is a BJJ day for me. I took class yesterday so my neck is a bit sore (spider guard) but nothing is too banged up. I really like my new school and I am looking forward to going to class today. So its going to be a great training day! Right? As I was weaving my hair into as many braids as possible in the hopes of it surviving rolling today, I had an idea for what I wanted to write about. In December it will be five years of BJJ for me. Yet sometimes I still am not sure why I am doing it. Despite hours and hours on the mats, I am still pretty bad at it. I still get tapped by white belts who are much bigger than me. I still forget every drill within a week of learning it. I am still not sure exactly what the point of all this is. Is it