We don't negotiate with terrorists

I am far from being the world's most patient mother.  I find children challenging to deal with because I'm not big on a bunch of things that seem to go hand-in-hand with small people.  Consequently, while I love my own small people, there are a bunch of behaviours I spend a lot of my time attempting to erase from existence.  Tantrums are top of that list.

Charlotte was dead easy.  Aged two she tried it on in Coles.  I bent down, told her she would never get a single thing out of me by behaving that way, picked her up and marched her straight out the door.  It was the only tantrum she ever threw.  A week later she watched as a small girl performed in the very same Coles and I pointed out the little rioter.

"Do you see how ridiculous  that looks?" I asked and my solemn little daughter nodded.
"Right.  Would you give that little girl anything for behaving that way?"
A small shake of her head.  She watched the kid in action for a bit then wandered over, bent down and patted her gently until the little anarchist paused to look up.
"You know you won't get anything if you behave like that," Charlotte informed her.

The little Viking has been another matter entirely.  About five months ago the tantrums started.  It was almost like he had to make up for his sister's failure to perform by doing his share, her share, plus accumulated interest.  We had tantrums every fifteen minutes.  We had tantrums lasting fifteen minutes. We had tantrums at home.  We had tantrums at the mall.  Tantrums, tantrums, tantrums.  And over the most ridiculous of things.  His television show ended.  We put his sock on the left foot instead of the right foot first.  He didn't want to wait for dinner to cool down.  The dog looked at him.

At first we tried to get him to talk about how he was feeling rather than just bursting into tears and wailing.  Then we tried bargaining.  Stop the tears and we'll go for a walk.  Then there were the threats.  Cut that out or there's no dessert at all.  Finally we decided there was something to the superpower way of thinking - we don't negotiate with terrorists.  And so the timeouts began.  First sign of tears and it's off to your room for timeout.  Come out when you're ready to talk and deal with us on a rational basis.

This didn't seem to halt the flight of the tantrum.  He would wail away, kicking the wall, crying for up to twenty minutes before emerging tear-stained and blotchy, bottom lip out and head down.  "Sorry for having a tantrum Mama, can I finish my dinner now please?"

This, we were quick to point out to both ourselves and the kids, was not about punishment.  It was about learning to deal with your emotions so you can communicate calmly.  Clearly there were times where our little Viking's emotions were simply too big for his body and he needed to express them, long and loud, before he could talk to us.  That was okay but we wanted to make sure he knew that it was for his benefit alone and not a tool to manipulate us.  So even as they didn't appear to be subsiding, we continued with the timeout rule.

Eventually the technique began to pay off.  The tantrums have thinned to a dribble and he's much better at articulating why he's unhappy and working with us to resolve the issue or negotiate a compromise.  There's only one ongoing, tiny little issue and that's when you ask him what his full name is.

"James Jason Bateson TIMEOUT!"

Agents for Change

As much as I don't want a counselor who holds my hand and sympathises, neither do I want a best friend who constantly tells me how fabulous I am.  I want the best friend who questions me, challenges me and prompts me to be a better person.  Kat is my best friend and she is all those things...and a study in being careful what you wish for.

Kat is ridiculously girly.  She has always been about the clothes, the makeup, the hair and the girly activities.  I'm less about those things and more about building, renovating, martial arts, gardening and power tools.  I don't suppose when you are someone that loves getting dressed up and hitting the town that it's a happy state of affairs to be the proud owner of a best friend who lives in jeans and is happiest up a ladder with a drill.  Still, Kat gets marks for persistence.  Years of buying me clothes, makeup, all in vain but still she persevered.  And then there was Charm School.

I don't suppose anyone would be flattered if their best friend announced that for their birthday they had bought them a spot in Charm School.  Horrified at the suggestion that I needed a class in etiquette, I was even more annoyed when she explained that it was less about deportment and more about hair and makeup.  I was speechless with the audacity of it.  But Kat being Kat, I knew I was going to give it a go, if only to sit there in resentful silence freezing her out with attitude purely to teach her a lesson in what not to buy me in future.

We had a list of everything we'd need for class.  Mirror, bobby pins, curlers, makeup, hair spray... I had to go and buy everything on the list brand new because I didn't own so much as a bobby pin.  Deep in the middle of Canberra's winter I showed up in a mood best described as "chippily resentful" for Charm School.  I was mortified when two women who looked fresh off a film set from the 40s stepped into the room.  I sank even lower in my chair.  This, I was sure, was not going to be a happy event and my colourful imagination was conjuring all manner of Trinny and Susannah-style intervention where the dearth of makeup on my face would be critiqued in front of everyone.

And then Miss Chrissy started to talk.  Beauty and glamour, she said, were not about age, size or colouring.  Beauty and glamour were about looking the very best you could and carrying yourself with confidence.  It's not just the look, it's attitude.  The look is achievable quite easily and quite cheaply, she told us, the attitude is all up to you.  The odds of a Trinny and Susannah-style dressing down seemed quite slim.  She had my attention.

For three hours we learned how our fore-mothers achieved their look on a budget.  The cheats, the tricks, how to be glamorous with little more than red lipstick, mascara, hair spray and bobby pins.  At the end of class I looked in the mirror and I was speechless.  I was beautiful.  Not just beautiful but glamorous.  Kat was practically choking on self-satisfaction when we left and insisted that we go somewhere for a late lunch so we could be fabulous in public.  She was practically skipping with glee.

It's hard to describe how I felt that afternoon.  I was uncomfortable in my skin and I was completely at war with myself.  I looked beautiful from the neck up...but the neck down was clad in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.  I felt like a slob.  For the first time since I was about six I wished I had a beautiful dress.  I wished I could be and feel beautiful every day.  I knew in my heart that the time had come for painful change and I honestly wasn't managing it especially well.

I smiled the whole time we were out while people came up to me and complimented me on how wonderful I looked.  I watched Kat take her compliments gracefully and I kept right on smiling while inside I felt the cracks spreading through me.  I made it home to show Charles how I looked and then I climbed into the shower and cried hot tears of frustration for everything I wasn't and for the sudden possibility of what I could be if I was only willing to apply myself and try.

It's been four years since my first Charm School.  I've been four more times and learned new things each time.  The second time I took a co-worker who was just like me.  No confidence, jeans and t-shirts, so like me the previous year.  I watched her face in the mirror after I finished her hair and makeup.  I watched her do a double take, look again and saw the excitement blossom on her face.  It was the first time in her life she'd felt beautiful and she told me later that her mother had cried when she saw her and made her take photos in the backyard.  I've seen it so many times now but it never gets old or tired or boring.  It's always wonderful to see.

These days I feel like I've mostly nailed the glamour.  I own more skirts and dresses than anything else.  Pantyhose have been swapped for garter belts with lace top stockings.  I can don liquid eyeliner and not look like someone's punched me.  I wear makeup to work almost every day and at the beginning of this year I made a commitment to not wear trousers, slacks or jeans to work except on Fridays.  It's August and I've stuck to that commitment.

I get people telling me I look great all the time and when I do full hair and makeup, don a dress and head out random people come up to me to compliment me, ask me where I learned to look like that and even to take photos*.  It's kind of disconcerting but I've learned how to accept compliments gracefully and be confident that what people see is different to all the flaws and failings I see.

Today was my fifth Charm School and instead of being a part of the class I went to take before, during and after photos for Miss Chrissy, who is not just my idol, but my friend now too.  Kat and I helped out where we could and I ached inside to see the face of one gorgeous woman twisted the way mine surely twisted in that first class with fear and doubt and self-loathing.  I wished she could see how beautiful she was - I wished she could see herself through my eyes.  I settled for telling her that I knew exactly how she felt because I'd been there too.

How very different the post Charm School late lunch was this time.  The ache of inadequacy replaced by confidence as I laughed and lunched with the ladies, as happy in heels and a dress as I am in jeans armed with a drill.  Compliments were gracefully given and received, a good time had by all.  I don't know whether I ever thanked Kat properly for her birthday gift all those years ago but here it is - you were right, my darling, you are always right when it comes to me and I am so very lucky to have you.  Thank you for the best birthday gift ever**.  X X X

*  The first time this happened I nearly had a panic attack.  After I managed to control the panic I then had to work at suppressing my nasty subconscious which was convinced they were asking so they could turn the photo into a horrible meme about drag queens or something.  It took everything I had not to threaten to hunt them down and punish them in the event that they did anything awful with the photo.  So on the outside I'm largely there but the self-esteem and the inside has a loooong way to go some days.

**  And sorry for all that crap attitude.