Marbles in the Marble Jar

We have a marble jar in our house, and the kids win prizes by filling it up for cooperation, good behavior, and sometimes, just because we love them and give them extra marbles for no reason at all.

It holds 117 marbles, and they fill it to the top every week-and-a-half to two weeks. There's no purpose or numeric, Kabbalistic mysticism to 117 marbles. That just happens to be the number of marbles that fit in the jar, without a bunch of marbles spilling over onto my carpet where I'll almost assuredly step on them in the dark and say swear words. 117 is maximum marble jar capacity, so that's how you get, to quote 2012 J2.

The prizes range from the very ordinary (a Saturday movie or new earrings at the mall), to the very fashionable (new skinny jeans or a new dress), to the gotta-have-it, heart's desire (a new Arsenal league soccer ball, a trip to Adventuredome, or God help us all, fur-lined boots).

At 7 and 8, J1 and J2 have not yet discovered these are all things we'd buy them anyway. There's nothing better than having your kids feel extra special with prizes that are just the normal, everyday business of life. There's no better day in my house than the one where I say, "What should our next prize be?" and they both shout out, "New shoes, new shoes!" and little do they realize, they've grown another size, so those were on my necessary To-Do list anyway. I believe, my friends, that's called an automatic Win-Win.

I bought the marbles at Wal-Mart, and they're pretty spiffy jar-fillers. We call them marbles, but they're really not. You couldn't shoot a game with them. Like us, they're not round and smooth yet. Like us, they're rough and sharp and they're crazy-sparkly like gems. I got them in the fish tank section. They're diamond-shaped, see-through, shiny and colorful. They're blue and red and yellow and pink and orange. They're diverse and different, like we are too. It's a pretty marble jar. It catches the sunlight. It gets prettier and prettier as victories mount and we fill it up together. I guess you really can't wish for anything more than that, right? Victories you fill up together?

We're pretty generous with the marbles. Doing homework will get you marbles. Sometimes a marble a page if we're feel magnanimous. Taking your plate to the sink will get you a marble. So will cleaning your room (although this is still mostly an untested theory). Being helpful gets you marbles. Being kind. Getting along. Being cooperative. Treating each other with loving kindness. Handing the last cookie to your sister and saying, "Here, Justice, you can have it." That'll get you a shitload of marbles. Boy, will it ever.

Mostly, marbles are for the times we get caught in the monumental act of respect. For looking beyond ourselves to see the other person sitting next to us. The amazing and beautiful times where no one is doing something good to earn something. The times where you get a marble and you say, "wow, I didn't even see that marble coming." Those are the priceless marbles. The ones you earn for not thinking about you. The ones you earn for thinking about someone else.

J1 and J2 have come so far in these past 17 months with us, it's sometimes hard to believe they're the same kids. From siblings whose default setting was fight and fight often, to the cooperative, sharing, caring duo of now, I almost can't believe it. I am blisteringly proud. I am stunned to watch it unfold.

I posted a video clip to Facebook the other day. They were at Chuck E. Cheese, feeding prize tickets into the ticket-counter machine, and effortlessly, for a minute and a half of video, they cooperatively found a rhythm. They instinctively handed each other tickets, fed them into the machine, didn't fight, didn't push, didn't compete. They just worked with each other with barely a word said, for the common good...them. It was fascinating to watch.

Do they still fight? Oh Lord, yes. They are a brother and sister, 7 and 8, one year apart, and if sibling rivalry didn't rear its ugly head at least once a day and lead to a minor spat or skirmish or two, I think I'd send them to the doctor for a cognitive workup and a blood panel. Big sisters think little brothers are an almighty pain in the ass and I assure you, it's vice-versa. He likes to kick the soccer ball back and forth at breakneck speed, and she likes to sit on it and take her time pondering new self-invented rules like, "okay, this next time, we all close our eyes and whoever gets it first gets a thousand dollars." It drives him up a tree. As far as stylistic pissing contests go, they can still come up with some doozies.

But there's no rage behind it anymore. Whatever life did to these kids to wallop them in the ass, mind and spirit...the worst days are behind them. Some of it is just growing up and growing older, but some of it is pure Them. We don't have to do "Kid of the Day" anymore to see who's turn it is to push the garage door button and turn off the light switch at night. They don't give a shit anymore. Life's too full of other things now.

The constant chorus of "that's not fair!" which haunted us from Day 1 to Day 365 is now just a watered-down, auto-pilot afterthought. There's no heartbreak to it anymore. There is still the occasional sense of injustice and inequity, but it finds its basis in reality now, not knee-jerk reactivity. "Fair" is a word that means something to them now. It is not a egocentric baby-demand. It is a thing that has objectivity and nuances.

I'm so proud of them.

They have grown, and continue to grow into remarkable, beautiful, wonderful-wise children. Life threw them lemons and they made lemonade so sweet we can all taste it. We can spot it from a distance. The anger, the hurt, the uncertainty, the rage...they turned it into hope. And goodness. And possibility. And, if at first they don't succeed? They try, try again. Lord, how they try.

I don't think there is anything more pleasing to the eyes of a father to watch two children whose anger at the world first turned inward to anger at each other, learn how to love each other again, to be best friends for real this time, to rediscover balance, cooperative spirit, and careful respect as they continue to settle into the ever-changing landscape of their lives.

More I cannot wish you, the Scottish blessing says.

Future J1? Future J2? Always love each other. You will never have another friend like your sister. You will never have another friend like your brother.

Never, ever, ever.

They're not even here right now. They're having a playdate at their friend Noya's house. But I just got up and grabbed a handful of marbles and I put it in their jar. I love you kids. And I love watching you love each other. That's my reward. That's my prize.

17 years Adam and I have been together this year. 17 months the kids have been with us this month. 117 marbles. If that's not kismet, well then, get your own jar. Try it yourself.

Meanwhile, our jar keeps filling. These wonderful, crazy-beautiful kids of ours...they beat the odds.

Dad and Daddy. Justice and Justin.

We overflow.

Oh No I Won't, Oh Yes You Will

Gonna stand my ground

Won't be turned around

And I'll keep this world from dragging me down

Gonna stand my ground

And I won't back down

Thank you, Tom Petty. Justice came with that song factory installed.

There's something incredibly humorous and painful about raising a defiant child. Sometimes you laugh so much it hurts and sometimes it hurts so much you hide in the bathroom. It's a Vitamix shitstorm of emotions, and honestly, while it's fascinating from a sociological and psychological standpoint, it's just plain maddening from the parenting poop deck of the USS Clueless.

I've been trying to wrap my head around it more and more these days, not just because Justice was diagnosed with ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder) straight off the bat, but also because I'm watching several of our friends go through the same things with their kids right now and, well, in for a penny, in for a pound...maybe whatever I learn and regurgitate can bring them some small flashes of hope and sanity too.

Justice takes a drug for ODD called Risperidone, which is the same drug they give the old folks with Alzheimers and Dementia so they stop hitting the nurses aides. It's an antipsychotic medication and it helps her control her outbursts, which she really can't control otherwise.

And I should preface these remarks by knowing full-well a whole passel of you well-meaning parents are undoubtedly going to jump on my case and give me holistic holy hell for giving any type of "mind altering" drug to my daughter. You think you won't? Pfft. I've talked about ADHD and Ritalin in this blog once or twice and a few of you went balls-first off the nuts-and-honey deep end.

So, before you're tempted to rescue my children again, let's leave it at this: your opinion is noted, but as my dear friend Andy used to say, I don't give a squirt. I'm as holistic as the next guy. I even banned high fructose corn syrup this year. But if you think I'm going to tackle Oppositional Defiant Disorder with no gluten and a bottle of fish oil capsules, you're out of your Whole Foods-loving mind. I love you dearly. Now put a sock in it.

ODD is one of those pain-in-the-ass, hard-to-interpret, "is that what it really is?" conditions. Is ADHD a real problem, or are kids just "energetic?" Does any child really have ODD, or is she just "strong-willed?" We spend so much time trying to spin our kids legitimate imbalances into positive pretty-talk, I think we often do them a great disservice. We certainly aren't helping them cope with their multi-year battles with ODD by sighing our exhausted, loving, tomorrow's-another-day smiles and saying, "I guess she's just independent." Bool sheet, mom and pop. She's not independent. She's freakin' whacked out.

Independent kids are good, cookie. I've got two of them and I love them to pieces. Strong-willed kids are good, too. Defiant children, on the other hand, have a legitimate problem that we have to help them fix. And by fix, I do not mean "finally achieve victory over them."It's not a contest we're supposed to win. 

"You WILL do what I say, because I'm the parent" is more or less bullshit machismo. You know it...and they know it, too. "Your goal is to join with your child, says the book I'm reading right now, not be her adversary. The more you realize you are working with - rather than against - your child to lower her defiance, the more you will make this happen." Ha! There it is! Right there in a book! I kind of suspected it was the case, but as usual, I feel better when I'm validated by an author. Which is probably why I buy so many books. I just keep hitting the "buy now with 1-click" button until I find one that agrees with me.

Justice Rachel, now 8, came to live with us a year and six months ago. That's not a whole lot of time to give it all up for God and country, as far as automatic compliance goes. You know those movies where the kid from the broken home yells at the new, hated stepdad, "you're not my real father?" Well, in our case, you can hardly blame the little pumpkin. She's got double bragging rights on that one.

So, sure. Some defiance was to be expected. Predicted. Noted. But almost off the bat, we saw things that just weren't healthy. Strange slow-motion movements and walking. Blank, disassociated stares. Rages. Not just tantrums. We all know what tantrums look like. These were frenzies. 

And what brought them on? "Can you pick up that book?" "Can you finish your homework." You know. The usual, mundane tortures of being 8. The proverbial kidlife crisis.

Our approach to all of this the past 18 months has really been fourfold:

1. Keep recognizing it as a real condition, and not saying "oh well, she's just strong-willed."

2. Continuing to work with our family therapist so she knows she's heard and her feelings are believed. We rotate sessions. The kids work with us one week, and go solo with the therapist the next. They can express their feelings with us and they can express their feelings without us. We think this is good.

3. Medication. For us, it's what works. It ran out once, and we watched as every bit of progress we made disappeared entirely in five short days. For better or for worse, for whatever reason, it's what she needs, so we're making sure she gets it.

4. (And this is the new one for us) Trying to see defiance through Justice's eyes. Trying to understand it's something that makes her feel as sad and frustrated and confused and uncomfortable as we are with it. Trying to realize it's not a contest we're supposed to win. Trying to realize we do her absolutely no good trying to break her like a horse. Trying to get our thick dad heads around the fact that we don't have to win to...win.

I'm loving Jeffrey Bernstein's book, 10 Days to a Less Defiant Child, and if your kid's a pain in the ass, I suggest you put it in your Amazon shopping cart, pronto.

In it, he makes a brilliant point. Defiant kids lack emotional intelligence. Plain and simple. And this confuses some parents, because their kids, like Justice, might be academically high-achievers. The kind the teachers love. They might be intellectually years ahead of other kids. They might be reading Dochevsky and cracking the Pythagorean theorem while their classmates are still pissing their panties at recess. But this doesn't make them emotionally intelligent. They're sort of, well, through no fault of their own, emotionally dumb.

And that's a hell of a puzzler for a parent, because then we get caught up in the silly trap of, "she's so good at school, she's so smart, her teacher says she is so far ahead of everyone else, why can't she just cooperate at home?" as if one set of skills precludes the other. It doesn't. Bernstein suggests emotional intelligence is a whole different ball of wax, skippy. I may be a brilliant pianist but that hardly ever means I can pop the hood of your car and fix your carburetor. Apples, peaches, pumpkin pie.

Another reason I like this book is because it has a really good chapter called, "Why Not to Yell in a Nutshell." And who doesn't need that reminder? Adam and I are not yellers by nature, but I'll admit, when it comes to defiance and Justice (and her brother too, when he lines up in aggravating sync), there have been times when when our obedience urge trumps the angels of our better nature, and we damn sure bark them back into action. Not proud of that. Just saying we're not infallible. The halo a lot of you have generously given us these past two years is often a little wobbly.

Bernstein says yelling at defiant kids is just dumb.

• It does not alter your child's behavior.
• It gets in the way of exploring the problem.
• It gives kids the wrong kind of attention, and they'll misbehave even more just to get it.
• Defiant children think concretely. "If it's okay for them to yell, it's okay for me to yell back."
• Yelling just leaves them resentful toward you.
• They act out when yelled at.
• The more you yell, the less they hear.
• Yelling says, "I'm mad at you. I don't like you."
• Children who are yelled at only respond to yelling. They stop responding to rational discussion.
• Yelling tell your child you're not a safe person to open up to and they can't trust you.
• Yelling tells your child, "you deserve to be yelled at."
• And the one that strikes me as the saddest one of all: yelling is demeaning. It's a way of saying, "I have power and you don't."

Justice, sweet, crazy, maddening child. I don't ever want you to think of your childhood as powerless. Not in this house, anyway. It's been way too powerless for way too long, and this is where all of that is supposed to change. If I didn't want that beautiful change to happen, then I should never have stepped up to bat in the first place.

So, shame on me when I yell at you. And shame on Daddy. We're human, we fail, and we'll do it again. I'm sure we will. But I want you to know, we know it's dumb. We know it's stupid. And it's not the way to find you where you need to be found.

"10 Days to a Less Defiant Child."

Oh, Dr. Bernstein, you silly, hopeful, impetuous fool.

If we, the imperfect, the frustrated, the stressed, could really tap that motherlode in a mere ten days, we'd all come over to your house next week, buy you a big steak dinner and kiss your sassafras. Such ain't the case, though. It takes way more time than that, best-selling teaser titles notwithstanding. But your book is a hell of a step in the right direction.

And in a dawning era where Adam and I are learning how to help Justice with her defiance, instead of battling with her over it, you've given us a long needed blueprint in concrete, appreciated terms.

Well, I know what's right

I got just one life

In a world that keeps on pushing me around

I won't back down

"No child ever grew up, looked back and blamed their parents for being too understanding," you write. And I do believe that's right. "Stricter is better" is no longer automatic common sense, and I'm going to allow myself to move past it. I'm going to work with her on this, not against her. It's not about my need to win, to be obeyed, to break her. It's about her need to have a good, sane, comfortable life. Loved. Heard. Understood.

Don't back down, Justice.

Your two dumb dads will get you through this.

10 Days to a Less Defiant Child, c.2006 Jeffrey Bernstein, Philadelphia, Da Capo Press, Perseus Books.

I Won't Back Down, c.1989 Tom Petty & Jeff Lynne, from the album Full Moon Fever.