08 Sep Model Behaviour
Kate King reflects as she starts to see herself in her kids.
Sensible eating habits, sun safety, good manners, respect for the environment and positive relationships are some of the things I consciously model for my children. While it’s rewarding to see my little sponges absorb these seminal lessons, they are also adept at assimilating aspects of my behaviour of which I’m not so proud.
“Go on – move!” my three-year-old back-seat driver recently shouted at the car in front of us. Usually I gush and giggle at every new expression my offspring utter, but this time I cringed. I knew exactly where she’d heard that one before. Not only did she sound uncannily like me, she added a carefully timed, dismissive wave. It was a double whammy that prompted a closer inspection of how I conduct myself on a daily basis in front of my two littlies.
If you ever want to know what you sound like to your child, hand them a toy phone. All of a sudden a 30 year old in a three year old’s body stands before you. It’s hilarious, yet frightening, how skilfully they use pauses and intonations to sound just like you. It’s no stretch to believe their little radars are receiving a lot more than the censored stuff.
I am not in full-time paid work, and my timetable is comparatively relaxed. I hardly ever need to rush. Yet I find myself in a perpetual state of hurriedness, with its friends impatience and anger tagging along, as I catapult my family through the day. Whether I’m in the car, grocery shopping or even spending a day at home, I’m rushing to complete tasks. My husband said he’s going to have ‘quickly’ inscribed on my tombstone.
Like most people, I have an ambitious mental list of things to complete every day. However, in an attempt to achieve this there are quite a few tantrums along the way. If something unexpected pops up and disrupts the day’s agenda – and let’s face it, that’s life with kids – I let it get to me. I envy those mothers who can calmly wait for their three year old to put their shoes on in the park while heavy rain clouds gather and threaten to drench the sheets hanging on the line after the first morning of sunshine for a month.
Apart from the sighing, shouting, occasional swearing and much shaking of the head, my children also bear witness to an implicit sense of eternal posthaste. My five year old can go from calm to panicked in a heartbeat if she thinks her little sister might be left behind somewhere. My irritation and lack of patience with the world quickly becomes theirs, and that’s not what I want. I hardly ever finish what I intend to – and didn’t even before I had kids. So why put pressure on myself to keep blasting through the day like a stick of dynamite with a short fuse? Even after a particularly lousy day, the world marches on – my family still gets fed, cleaned and smothered with hugs and kisses in a relatively hygienic home.
While I can control my behaviour, I can’t control what other people say and do in front of my kids. When you stop and take a look around, impatience and anger lurk in many public places. From roads to supermarket checkouts, if someone else’s needs are not being immediately met, one could be on the receiving end of an agitated sigh, a sharp shake of the head or possibly even outrageous verbal abuse.
My much-loved late grandfather once said to me, “Act, don’t react”. To a young teenager it didn’t make much sense, but eventually I understood. A little controlled anger is good, as it can spur one into action, but maintaining the rage in front of my children is not a behaviour I want them to emulate.
I can’t pretend my kids don’t see the bits I don’t want them to, or that I’m anything more than human. They deserve uncensored access to the best and worst of me. I just wish I could occasionally go to the bathroom and swear loudly, enunciating every last delectable syllable. Only when warranted of course, and preferably not within earshot of my children.
Illustration by Andrea Smith
