Tortillas, Tantrums, And Love

I’m part of an online mom’s group where we share parenting struggles and advice. We all have four-year-olds and there’s a trend that we’ve seen among the kids lately. They are starting to say things like: “You are the worst mommy ever!”, “I hate you mommy!” and “I wish Jessica was my mommy and not you”.

Thanks for being so awesome, Jessica.

It’s both hilarious and heartbreaking considering all that a parent does for their kid only to get verbally slapped in the face.

I had one of these moments over lunch recently. It had already been a rough morning with lots of high-decibel screaming over minor things like putting shoes on, who got the purple-lidded snack cup and 50 more examples of pettiness before the nine o’clock hour.

We were late eating lunch so I placed a tortilla on my daughter’s favorite colored plate to get things rolling. I set the taco fixings out on the table with a spoon in each dish like an organized mother so she could serve herself. “She will be happy with this” I tell myself with wavering hope.

My two-year-old was devouring his food when my four-year-old finally trudged to the table.

Within seconds she yells “BUT MOMMY! I wanted to choose my OWN plate!”

After some negotiation and telling her to ask in a kinder voice, I allowed her to put the red plate back (she always picks red) and picks a pink one.

We all sit at the table and I put the tortilla on her pink plate and proudly tell her she can choose her own toppings. But a thunderstorm of emotion pours over the room.

“BUT MOOOOOOMMMMMYYYY! I WANTED TO PICK MY OWWWWWN TORTILLLLLA!” she screams.

Okay. Momma is done with this power struggle.

I also do not believe in wasting the perfectly good tortilla she is ripping into a thousand pieces. I tell her she needs to be happy with the tortilla I put out for her, that it is a great tortilla, it’s just like the rest of them, and that I got it just for her out of kindness and I don’t want to get up to get the tortilla bag out of the fridge, again".

Exhale.

Well, she did not like that. So she screamed for the next 10 minutes while angrily wadding the innocent tortilla into a sorry little ball.

I try to appear calm and ride it out. That’s what I thought to best in the moment. You know, it’s the first-born child. But in the midst of this screaming, hot blood was pumping through my head that I somehow managed to control with the powers of my fully developed pre-frontal cortex… which four-year-olds aren’t privy to.

After some time, her screams reduced to whimpers.

I could see the conflicting emotions crisscrossing in her mind. I saw a look of fear that she harmed our relationship. I’m pretty much her connection to the world right now. The person she relies on for food, emotional security, and love (at least from 8 to 5 on weekdays except for Wednesdays). So for her to mess things up with me, well, that’s a big problem.

Rather than adding fuel to the fire, I didn’t say anything and walked over to give her a hug, hoping I was doing the right thing in this all too familiar yet uncharted territory of tantrum-taming.

She melted into my arms. She rubbed her hot angry wet face into my shoulder and took a big breath of relief that I was not going to hold this tantrum against her.

It was a hug reassuring my love and forgiveness—even though there was ABSOLUTELY no way I was giving her a new tortilla.

After she was confident in my love, she was able to conjure up impressive confidence to talk through her feelings in an incredibly mature way.

With tears still rolling down her cheeks she said, “Mommy… I felt like you were ruining my life.”

Wow—over a tortilla… I say to myself, wondering I how I would survive parenting a tween.

She continued on, “I felt like you were just controlling me”.

I listened and took a deep breath with her, commending her for her great communication and letting her know that she’s not alone in her dislike for being controlled. I took note of how much humans hate losing freedom. Prison is the consequence society has for the worst offenders—essentially the ultimate loss of control. Many of us would agree that being controlled is about the worst thing that could happen. And it’s just as hard for kids, even though they need healthy boundaries from parents.

It wasn’t really about the tortilla. It was about control.

And we can’t have a four-year-old in control of our lives. Even though it would have been easier to give her a new tortilla, it would also have been a disservice to her learning the necessary life skill of how to treat others. Somehow I had to find the delicate balance in breaking the will without breaking the child.

Through this moment of tortilla rage, I’ve seen proof of what my kids need more than anything else. More than eating perfectly healthy food or having the perfect preschool, they need to know I love them through it all, even when they say “I hate you”.

When my daughter understands that our rules are based on love, she’ll learn to trust that authority, even when she doesn’t like it.

The little battles that make up our children’s first years demonstrate our authority and love before the conflicts become more consequential than tortillas. I have heard that it is more important for a parent to earn the trust of their teenager than for the teenager to earn the trust of their parent.

For now, take comfort in knowing that “somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight” when your child is screaming, mine probably is too.

Renee is a part-time Master’s of Social Work student and a full-time stay-at-home-mom. She is currently working toward world peace by mending meltdowns and playing with toy trucks. You can read more of Renee on her blog, Mother of Drool. and you can follow her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.