Questions, Questions, Questions—Curiosity Killed the Parents But Fed the Kid

09/10/2009

Remember the Volvo commercial from a couple of years back, where the little girl talks nonstop—from when dad straps her in to when he pulls onto the road? 

That’s my three-year-old T-Rex. Just yesterday, in the car, the conversation went like this: "Mommy, I like you because I'm bigger than you." To which I responded, "Actually, no you're not." And to which my husband added, "Yet."

There was the briefest of pauses, then, "Um. I'm a small boy. I can't play music like big people. I only play teeny-tiny musical instruments."

While I was puzzling over that one, he launched into a stream of logistical questions, delivered staccato. "Vere are we going mommy? Vy is it taking so long? Vy is the car moving?"

"Because…..because….because the wheels are going 'round and 'round."

To quote Bill the Cat, "Ack."

Another category of challenging is the abstract questions—the ones three-year-olds really aren't equipped to know the answers to because they don't have, well, life experience. A case in point. I was driving the kids back from daycare recently, relaxing to some Simon & Garfunkel after a punishing workday. "Kathy’s Song" was playing:

“And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you.

….And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I.”

T-Rex piped up from the back seat, “Vy is this man singing like that about rain mommy?”

“Uh. Because he’s sad, hon.”

“But vy is he sad?”

“Um. Because his lady love went away.”

“But vy did that lady go away from that man?”

Ack.

I related this incident to my parents, and my father’s response was, “You should have told him it’s because she went off and got [censored] with some other guy.” Strangely, I was reminded of the grandfather in the movie "Little Miss Sunshine."

Anyway. You get the idea. T-Rex asks a lot of questions, many of which I can't answer adequately. So, now I'm the one asking the questions:  Is all his questioning normal? And when he asks the same question over and over, am I supposed to be OK with that?

Of course, I went surfing the Internet for answers, and the resounding answer to both questions is, "Yes!" When kids ask questions it's a good thing, the experts say, because:

● It helps them think critically. Parents, of course, want to answer correctly. But not all questions have a definite answer, and discussing children's questions can help teach them that. They can learn that different ways of asking questions prompt different answers. And when answers aren't clear, they can learn to dig deeper.

● It fosters persistence. Endless questions can get irritating, especially when the same ones are repeated. But shutting them down can send a message that it's not good to keep asking. And in the adult world, pushiness often pays.

● It stems from curiosity, which is linked to good mental health. In the field of positive psychology—what makes life satisfying and meaningful to people—researchers say curiosity is a key indicator of people's success and well-being.

One of the leading researchers in the area, psychologist Todd Kashdan of George Mason University, maintains that curiosity is key to growth. His studies find that the more curious people are, the higher their levels of confidence, autonomy, and spiritual satisfaction.

Curiosity also acts as an antidote to anxiety – opening minds to new people and experiences and superseding self-doubt and fear. It can also keep addiction at bay. And it even helps stave off dementia, not that that's something T-Rex needs to worry about yet.

This all makes sense, but I'm not convinced that curiosity is always good. And Kashdan does acknowledge that it has its dark side. For example, you can be too curious about other people, intruding in their lives and gossiping relentlessly. Keep pressing them on private matters, and they may start making things up.

I think that's what Eugene O'Neill was getting at in the play "Diff'rent" through his character Benny, who said, "Curiosity killed a cat! Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies."

But when it comes to questions about the world—how it works, why the sky is blue, what a vacuum cleaner does, why airplanes leave vapor trails, why mommy paints her toenails, why our dog Simba is so smelly, and why the car is moving—apparently a kid can't ask too many of them.

So I'm bracing myself for many more question-and-answer sessions with T-Rex. But I'm ready to turn more of the questions around on him and to suggest doing research if I don't know the answers.

I'm also seeking a bottomless well of patience—and the energy to explain that some things just don't have answers. Like why did the lady in Kathy's Song go away? Unless Paul Simon is willing to take a call from a three-year-old, I don't think we'll ever know.

How to Talk ‘Boy’: Lessons from Calvin and Hobbes

06/03/2009

Why won’t my three-year old listen? I realize this is not an unusual question for parents, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it comes up more with boys.

Because I have two of them (age 3), the question pops up all day long. Take this past Sunday: We step out the door for a walk to the park, and Punk takes off running down the block.

“Stooooooooooooooooooooooop!” I screech at him, but he just keeps running. And running, and running. And I keep yelling, louder and louder, all the while attempting to grab T-Rex, who is swinging from a neighbor’s bush in an effort to snag a rose. It’s only when my screeches approach Banshee-crazy that Punk halts at the curb, inches away from speeding cars  – then flashes me a Brad Pitt  smile.

After the park, we head to the local coffeehouse for some cake and chocolate milk. I seat them at a table and am buying the goods, when I see Punk lunging for the flower vase (roses again), and tipping it upside down.

“PUNK, NO!,” I holler. He keeps turning it over, watching me with a mischievous half smile. “No no no no NO!” Too late. There’s water all over the floor.

When I ask my husband about stuff like this, he just says, “Rea d Calvin and Hobbes. I mean, Calvin is five or six…but that’s about the only difference.”

I do as I’m told, and am duly enlightened about what it takes to get through to a small boy. Example:  In one strip, Calvin is scowling at a plate of food, refusing to eat “this green stuff. Yecchh!“

“Good idea Calvin,” says his dad. “It’s a plate of toxic waste that will turn you into a mutant if you eat it.” On hearing this, Calvin scarfs the green stuff in seconds, prompting his mom to say, “There has GOT to be a better way to make him eat!”

Calvin’s dad just gives her a blank stare.

Ha! So that’s it. You have to actually think like a small boy. Who knew? Now that I finally do, I figure this is how my husband probably would have handled the Punk runaway situation: “Hey Punk, you better STOP if you wanna see the SEWER MONSTER!”

Punk would no doubt have stopped instantly. He is crazy about sewer grates. One of his favorite activities is pressing his face to the grate, butt in the air, gazing rapt into the murky brown waters below. (It’s always interesting to see the looks on pedestrians’ faces as they pass him doing this.)

Problem is, well, I’m an adult woman. Thinking and talking like a small boy doesn’t exactly come naturally to me. I strongly suspect the same is true for other moms.

Still, I decided to give it a shot this morning, when Punk got resistant during the daycare drop-off. Parents are required to take their kids to the bathroom before class, but right now, Punk straight-up refuses to go. I try everything—pleading, running after him, getting tough, sitting at his level and asking. Nothing works.

I rack my brain for possible boy motivators. As I chase him past the infant room, I try, “Hey Punk. Don’t you want to make a pee-pee WATERFALL?” He slows, then stops, considering. “Waterfall?” he says thoughtfully. “Yes, yes, waterfall!” I hold my breath. “Oh yes,” says Punk. “I make pee-pee waterfall.” And he does.

Of course, then he refuses to put on his underwear. So I chase my bottomless son around the classroom with a stack of underwear options, reading them off: “Buzz Lightyear!  Elmo! Roary the Racing Car!”  No luck. That’s when I switch to boy mode. I hold up the Thomas the Train pair, dancing and singing the Thomas the Train theme song. (There are giggles from the day-care staff.) Who cares—it works! “Oh yeah,” says Punk. “I like those underwear.”

But moms and dads don’t always have time to be creative. We need reliable tools for those moments when we’re hurtling through a busy day, and just need our kids to cooperate. I’m thinking of when we’re running five minutes late, and the kid refuses to put on his shoes.

What to do? Here’s what the experts recommend (for a comprehensive guide, see http://health.discovery.com/centers/kids/childrearingtips/discipline_06.html):

• Turn off the television.
• Have a one-to-one talk, explaining why you need him to listen.
• Provide choices—three different pairs of shoes to choose from, for instance. Or you might explain that he needs to put his shoes on before going outside and can do it now or five minutes from now.
• Offer a reward (like he can take his favorite toy in the car with him).
• If nothing else works, try a time out after counting to three.

Perhaps most important, say the experts, is thanking your child when he listens—it’s positive reinforcement.  But if you have the time and capacity for warped thinking, I recommend talking “boy,” like Calvin’s mom learned to do in Calvin and Hobbes. Case in point: In one strip Calvin complains that his mother’s cooking smells like someone got sick in the furnace duct. She tells him she’s made stewed monkey brains. Bingo! He gobbles it down with gusto.