Emulate.

Matt often jokes that no one else could get away with talking to him like I do. What can I say? I have some sass in me. It is all with love, of course. I’ve always laughed along until I experienced the same.

You know what’s hard?

Parenting.

Every milestone brings on new challenges, and with more age comes a greater sense of self and curiosity in control. Not any different than us, but on an obsessive, can’t get enough level. This manifests as complete indifference to what I say. She just straight-up doesn’t listen.

I’m purposely trying to avoid caveats such as she’s still a great kid and listens well sometimes, too. That should be obvious. All kids are great kids who have more to learn.

I’m not a lukewarm person in any capacity. For me, it’s all or nothing. So if I’m doing something, I’m doing it all the way. I have read most of the big-name parenting and discipline books. None are all-encompassing. I combine a little from each to meet our unique mix of personalities and needs.

I try to keep everything I know at the forefront of my mind and stay within my patience when dealing with her. But occasionally, I snap. It feels intimidating and revealing to share that, which is silly. I wouldn’t believe anyone who said they didn’t ever lose it. It’s human.

Being ignored is triggering. My ego flares despite knowing it’s not personal; nothing is personal with a three-year-old.

Why does my kid seem so incapable of following directions? Why must I repeat myself five times and raise my voice to get her to listen? Why does everything have to seem like the biggest fight?

She is learning and trying her best at any given moment. These are not skills a baby is born with. It takes practice and repetition. I have to show her the tools I expect her to use, help her form them for herself, and then choose them repeatedly. It’s my job to be consistent and show her acceptable ways to deal with her impulses and big feelings.

When I’m at my best, I’ll warn her about what I see as it’s happening. Using narration, I’ll say, ' I see you’re having a hard time playing with Lincoln.’ Sometimes, this will lead us into more of a conversation, and we will talk about her options, ‘You can play together, or you can take space.’

If the behavior continues, and often it does, I will introduce the consequence, ‘You’re not sharing. That’s not kind. Everyone must be able to play and be happy. Next time you snatch, you will take a break in your room. You can find a way to play together or take space.’

Although it sucks, and I don’t even want to be bothered to enforce this consequence, I have to be willing and able to follow through every time. So, the very next time, I take her to her room. I prefer her to walk to her room willingly, but if she doesn’t, I tell her I’m helping her body make the right choice and carry her back there.

I will set her on her bed and tell her we will talk when she is calm. Sometimes, she is immediately ready to talk it out. Other times, neither of us are. If I feel too escalated from whatever the situation was, I’ll let her know that I need space to take deep breaths and calm my body down. I will return when I feel calmer, and she needs to slow her body down, too. Sometimes, she will even ask for help calming down. If she asks, I don’t turn her down. We will take deep breaths together, or I’ll hug her tightly.

I will remind my ego on a loop that discipline is not about punishing. It’s about learning, and connection is at the center of everything.

We have had many talks distinguishing the difference between her body and brain, using the most straightforward terms I could come up with. Her body wants to have everything as fast as possible. If she sees her brother playing with a toy, her body wants it right then and snatches it. Her brain is smart and knows all the right things, but her body is faster. She needs to slow down and think about what she should do. Her brain will keep her doing the kind thing. It feels good to listen to our brains. Our bodies make bad choices, and doing the wrong thing doesn’t feel good.

She’s grasped this idea pretty well. She will show me with her hands, moving them all around, crazy, and say my body is going like this. I’ll acknowledge her feelings. The desire behind the behavior is always glaringly obvious. It makes sense why she does the things she does, but then we discuss what she can do next time. We have had talks like these so many times that she gets it. Once she’s calm, her brain knows the right thing. The talks end with promises to try again next time and to whom she might need to apologize.

This might sound like I have my shit together, and I certainly try. But again, I erupt probably as often, if not more than the next guy. It’s easy to know the right thing and not do it. But even when, or especially when, I get it wrong, we talk it out. I own my bad reaction and apologize, too.

I’m not teaching her that I or anyone else is above anything. She doesn’t have to listen because I’m her mom or an adult, and I said so, but because it’s the right thing to do. It’s a way of life to treat people with kindness. I’m holding myself to the same standard I hold her to. It’s a standard of respect, good communication, and healthy boundaries.

My big reactions aren’t okay, either. When I have a big reaction, it’s my body acting too fast. I, too, get overwhelmed by my impulses. I, too, am still learning and need more practice. I need to slow down, distance myself from the trigger before I react, and make a choice I’m proud of. I need to emulate what I want in her. So when I yell and snap, I apologize. I say what I did wrong and what I can do better next time.

This may sound like, ‘I was frustrated when I saw you snatch from your brother. He was very upset, and I was overwhelmed by repeating myself to you. I yelled, and that was wrong. Yelling doesn’t help. Next time, I will help you take space and then take space for myself to calm down. Yelling at you doesn’t make me feel good. I’m sorry, I yelled. What happened? Why were you snatching from your brother?’ Then, we will talk about her behavior, too.

We’ve gone through this whole spiel so many times it now comes with much less prompting. I know she hears me, and she gets it. I’ll listen to her say these things as she plays with her dolls in her make-believe world or when her brother struggles. She is always doing her best and will get better in time.

She’s three. She’s not going to get it right every time. It would be weird and miraculous if she did. Her behavior is normal and is not a personal attack against me. These are things I know but lose in the heat of the moment. If I’m 29 and find it hard to do the right thing 100% of the time, how can I expect a 3-year-old, too?

It’s important to remember that kids aren’t little soldiers to be molded and forced to obey. They are humans with their own thoughts and desires who wonder and explore. How brilliant and beautiful it is to offer these coping skills so early. The world would be better if we all practiced slowing down and reacting to our impulses less.

This leads me to the classic saying, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” I will emulate what I want to see in her, what I want her to give her friends, what I want the world to give to us all. Let’s be people that lead with wanting to understand each other. Human desires are simple and connect us all. We’re all flawed and will inevitably mess up. Let’s give grace and choose patience. Nothing gets better if we don’t do better.

Imagine all these kind choices compounding and catching like wildfire, more contagious than a viral infection. A world where everyone owns up to their shit and spends time considering what they could’ve done better, then actually tries the next chance they get.

Accept this invitation to try today. Try harder than usual. Take deep breaths. Slow down. Create space. Put connection first. Repair when it goes wrong.

Be an example. Be worth copying. Be proud.