Read Online French Twist by Catherine Crawford - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Catherine Crawford
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discouraged if change is not instantaneous once you have gone French with your charges (case in point: Daphne and her tantrums). I’ve found it very helpfulto keep such French wisdom at the ready, but mine has been a deep hole to dig out of, so, at least at first, I developed my own spin on things. Also, transforming my lovable urchins to resemble the little saints I saw in France will take time. Meanwhile, I find comfort in the small victories. For instance, take the advice I’ve been given from more than a few French parents:
Que le châtiment conviène au crime
. Or: “Let the punishment fit the crime.”
On the first day of my kids’ new summer camp, I succeeded in this—but perhaps the voltage of the punishment was not up to French standards. I arose already nervous about the transition, and then I had the added concern that Daphne had gone to sleep late the night before
—quelle horreur
, I know. So I spent my morning fretting over how she would do at camp. Of course, she woke up on the grumpy side. The kid needs her sleep, and if she doesn’t get it she tends to resemble a miniature Don Rickles: funny, sure, but mostly just mean. As she does every morning, Daphne immediately inspected what I had put in her lunch (very un-French of me to allow this and even to open up her packed lunch for discussion, by the way). Turns out, a Baggie with five chocolate crackers was an unacceptable sweet. I was already on eggshells with the kid (again, un-French), so I took Daphne into the kitchen to procure a more suitable lunchtime treat. That went fine, and I
thought
we were in great shape. About ten minutes later, Oona sought me out, clearly miffed. She bellowed, “Why does Daphne get a bag of chocolate cookies for breakfast?”
More than usual, I was wary of handling the tinderboxof Daphne’s emotions, and I was also trying to get out of the house in time for the kids to catch the camp bus. The last thing I wanted to do at that moment was give her the French treatment for such a transgression. And yet she ate cookies for breakfast! I had to do something. Deep down, I knew that the answer was to take the other, previously approved treat out of her lunch. But I could not face it. She had been so happy with her choice, and I knew taking it away would result in a major meltdown. Given all of these circumstances (especially the fact that if they missed the bus, I would have to bring the girls to my work for the day), the old me would have blown it off with a “Daphne, that was wrong. Never do it again! Now let’s go.” But I’m in recovery. On the fly, I came up with a punishment that (almost) fit the crime.
Three Tic Tacs. I took away three Tic Tacs. It might not seem like much, but it was all that was left in the coveted pack her aunt had given her a couple of weeks before. Her freak-out was minimal, we made the bus, and—perhaps most important—I had done something! Next time I’ll go full French on her, provided we aren’t running against the clock.
The whole dessert-for-breakfast fiasco brings up another area where we American parents might be straying far from the mark. We are a land of free spirits and original thinkers. This is great, but let’s be reasonable. I see kids at my local playground tripping all the time because they insist on wearing their shoes on the opposite feet or, even worse, wearing shoes that are multiple sizes too big:“Oh, he just has a mind of his own and loves to wear his big sister’s Vans.” The subtext: “We don’t want to stifle his creativity.” I grew up with Punky Brewster, so I can get behind some zany footwear, but I’ve got to take a page out of the French playbook when it comes to kids: Don’t be afraid of right and wrong.
I know parents here so worried about suffocating their children’s budding inner artists that their kids are living in a bizarro world where anything goes. It is important to remember that kids are, until about the age of seven, relatively
Que le châtiment conviène au crime
. Or: “Let the punishment fit the crime.”
On the first day of my kids’ new summer camp, I succeeded in this—but perhaps the voltage of the punishment was not up to French standards. I arose already nervous about the transition, and then I had the added concern that Daphne had gone to sleep late the night before
—quelle horreur
, I know. So I spent my morning fretting over how she would do at camp. Of course, she woke up on the grumpy side. The kid needs her sleep, and if she doesn’t get it she tends to resemble a miniature Don Rickles: funny, sure, but mostly just mean. As she does every morning, Daphne immediately inspected what I had put in her lunch (very un-French of me to allow this and even to open up her packed lunch for discussion, by the way). Turns out, a Baggie with five chocolate crackers was an unacceptable sweet. I was already on eggshells with the kid (again, un-French), so I took Daphne into the kitchen to procure a more suitable lunchtime treat. That went fine, and I
thought
we were in great shape. About ten minutes later, Oona sought me out, clearly miffed. She bellowed, “Why does Daphne get a bag of chocolate cookies for breakfast?”
More than usual, I was wary of handling the tinderboxof Daphne’s emotions, and I was also trying to get out of the house in time for the kids to catch the camp bus. The last thing I wanted to do at that moment was give her the French treatment for such a transgression. And yet she ate cookies for breakfast! I had to do something. Deep down, I knew that the answer was to take the other, previously approved treat out of her lunch. But I could not face it. She had been so happy with her choice, and I knew taking it away would result in a major meltdown. Given all of these circumstances (especially the fact that if they missed the bus, I would have to bring the girls to my work for the day), the old me would have blown it off with a “Daphne, that was wrong. Never do it again! Now let’s go.” But I’m in recovery. On the fly, I came up with a punishment that (almost) fit the crime.
Three Tic Tacs. I took away three Tic Tacs. It might not seem like much, but it was all that was left in the coveted pack her aunt had given her a couple of weeks before. Her freak-out was minimal, we made the bus, and—perhaps most important—I had done something! Next time I’ll go full French on her, provided we aren’t running against the clock.
The whole dessert-for-breakfast fiasco brings up another area where we American parents might be straying far from the mark. We are a land of free spirits and original thinkers. This is great, but let’s be reasonable. I see kids at my local playground tripping all the time because they insist on wearing their shoes on the opposite feet or, even worse, wearing shoes that are multiple sizes too big:“Oh, he just has a mind of his own and loves to wear his big sister’s Vans.” The subtext: “We don’t want to stifle his creativity.” I grew up with Punky Brewster, so I can get behind some zany footwear, but I’ve got to take a page out of the French playbook when it comes to kids: Don’t be afraid of right and wrong.
I know parents here so worried about suffocating their children’s budding inner artists that their kids are living in a bizarro world where anything goes. It is important to remember that kids are, until about the age of seven, relatively
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