Paper Bag Parenting
With weeks and weeks of full-time summer childcare, you'd think we'd become really good at parenting. I regret to admit that the opposite is true. This holiday has put quite a strain on what minimal skills we were in possession of. We're exhausted. Cal is often times totally over us.
In a moment of desperation the other day, I made a puppet out of a brown paper bag. I drew two eyes and Mr Fish was born. On the first afternoon Cal played with Mr Fish for hours. They explored the garden together, swam around the house and snuggled cheek to crumpled brown paper cheek. It was kind of magical. As the voice of Mr Fish, I was way more curious, hilarious and loving and Cal totally responded to it, his eyes all aglow.
By day three I was pretty over being Mr Fish and stuffed the worn paper bag down the side of the garbage bin. That was funny I thought tucking it beneath some leftovers.
The next day Mr Fish was back. The kind of brown paper bags that the bottle shop wraps wine in are common around here. This time Mr Fish didn't have eyes and thankfully he'd become David's puppet. In the couple of days since then Mr Fish has had so much airtime that poor David's voice is hoarse.
Cal involves Mr Fish in so many of his activities, talking to him as if we're not even in the room. And Mr Fish is an amazing addition to our family. He's the negotiator between Cal and us. He's endlessly patient and seemingly always on Cal's team. But he's also a direct line for us as parents to crazy-town. When Cal wouldn't pee before bed (a nightly stand-off) Mr Fish intervened. "Hey Cal, done a wee?" Cal bolted to to the toilet.
This week Mr Fish has taught me a lot about de-escalation and tone. I'm loathe to sugar-coat every interaction I have with my kid, but a little make-believe sure does make life a whole lot easier.
In a moment of desperation the other day, I made a puppet out of a brown paper bag. I drew two eyes and Mr Fish was born. On the first afternoon Cal played with Mr Fish for hours. They explored the garden together, swam around the house and snuggled cheek to crumpled brown paper cheek. It was kind of magical. As the voice of Mr Fish, I was way more curious, hilarious and loving and Cal totally responded to it, his eyes all aglow.
By day three I was pretty over being Mr Fish and stuffed the worn paper bag down the side of the garbage bin. That was funny I thought tucking it beneath some leftovers.
The next day Mr Fish was back. The kind of brown paper bags that the bottle shop wraps wine in are common around here. This time Mr Fish didn't have eyes and thankfully he'd become David's puppet. In the couple of days since then Mr Fish has had so much airtime that poor David's voice is hoarse.
Cal involves Mr Fish in so many of his activities, talking to him as if we're not even in the room. And Mr Fish is an amazing addition to our family. He's the negotiator between Cal and us. He's endlessly patient and seemingly always on Cal's team. But he's also a direct line for us as parents to crazy-town. When Cal wouldn't pee before bed (a nightly stand-off) Mr Fish intervened. "Hey Cal, done a wee?" Cal bolted to to the toilet.
This week Mr Fish has taught me a lot about de-escalation and tone. I'm loathe to sugar-coat every interaction I have with my kid, but a little make-believe sure does make life a whole lot easier.
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| Mr Fish is the brown paper bag on David's hand |
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| And with a plastic fish Annema bought him at the aquarium |
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