The other day I intervened in a sibling skirmish that began over possession of a small stack of fake $10 bills. The 'money' belonged to five-year-old E, who usually hoards it in a tin shaped like a Christmas Tree (appropriate, no?). Apparently while the two boys were playing in E's room, two-year-old J located the cash and began to--GASP!--play with it.
What I heard, on the other sound of the house, was a sudden outburst of wailing from my younger son. I don't always go a-runnin' at the sound of conflict. As a parent, one becomes adept at distinguishing between the varied types of crying our little ones produce. I could tell this was different than your run-of-the-mill "I'm ticked off because you snatched a Lego out of my hand" noise, so I headed down the hall. Sure enough, when I got to the room there were real tears rolling down J's little face, and E was hastily tidying his precious wad of money.
"Why is your brother crying?" I asked.
"He did it," answered E. He doesn't know it, but this is code for, "I am guilty as hell." He shrugged both shoulders with upturned palms, the universal gesture for "Does this make me look like I didn't do it?" And said, "It was an accident, he did it himself, on the cabinet."
I stalled for time, sitting down on the floor and checking J for bruises or red marks. He was fine other than being really upset, and in the few seconds I bought myself I had decided on a strategy: the Quiet Treatment. This is where I speak just above a whisper, and stay stoically, maddeningly quiet until E has given me an appropriate answer to whatever I've asked of him.
I like to use the Quiet Treatment whenever I can, but it's been especially useful lately when I am sure that E is not being honest. It's just a part of childhood that kids experiment with dishonesty. They make poor decisions and then want to avoid being in trouble, it's par for the course. What proves to be problematic in our house is the drama that ensues when E's dishonesty is uncovered. He knows he's in double trouble, once for acting up and twice for fibbing about it. The Quiet Treatment is great because it forces him to be forthcoming, but can help cut down on post-revelatory pandemonium.
"You didn't answer my question," I said softly. "Please tell me why your brother is crying." Through a combination of pantomime, half-mumbled words (E won't say the word 'hit' out loud, but he does have a dazzling array of curse words in Spanish, thanks to my mother-in-law) and head nods, I gleaned that E had smacked his brother upside the head for putting chubby little fingers all over the treasured bills. I had the truth, so now it was time to talk about consequences.
I try really hard to emphasize that not all consequences are bad. Otherwise, I would just go ahead and use the word 'punishment,' which we're not supposed to use anymore because it makes children feel bad about themselves. Arguing semantics isn't my bag, I just want my kids to understand that they are in control of their actions, and that every action has a consequence. Sometimes it's good, other times...not so much. So I took the stack of play money and we went to the kitchen table to talk about telling the truth, and to choose an appropriate course of action. I gave E the following options to choose from.
1. I can throw away the money.
2. E can forego bedtime stories for the night.
3. E can forego bedtime cuddles (extra time that G or I spend with E after lights out).
He moaned; he protested; he tried to finagle a fourth option that involved zero unpleasantness. But after I reiterated his choices to him, he surprised me by choosing to throw the money away. He would not give up a single night of bedtime stories or closeness to us, but instead readily chose to never play with a favored toy again--a toy that has been at the center of such drama in our home.
I tossed the bills in the recycle bin and allowed myself a quiet moment of pride in my son. I know I am in danger of reading too much into the situation, but I saw so much in the motivation of his choice. Permanent versus fleeting; belonging versus ownership; ours versus mine. I saw what really matters to him, as he is right now, and I hope that he always chooses love over possessions.
