I couldn’t tolerate the kids playing in the kitchen any more. Cooking was happening and it wasn’t safe. A fire was lit on the stove. Heavy pans were being moved from the cabinets. Knives were slicing vegetables. There was plenty of room for kids to move freely in nearby rooms that didn’t involve ducking under refrigerator doors. I lost my cool. At that moment I invited a monster into my house.
I had just finished reading Hunt, Gather, Parent. This gem of book is filled with wisdom about how other cultures raise kids, and the lessons we can bring into our Western world. I wasn’t sold on this idea of creating stories for kids. But, any parent knows that a simple approach to behavior correction doesn’t always make it very far with kids. The book tells of one particular Celtic story. In this case, “don’t get too close to the water or you’ll fall in” wasn’t guidance that was understood by the kids. And so, a story about a sea-dwelling horse who might take a kid for a ride under the surface was created. This helped kids remember to stay away from the water’s edge.
The monster in my kitchen, lacking uniqueness, is named Cookie Monster.
Cookie Monster lives behind the shelves in our pantry. He loves when Mom and Dad are in the kitchen making noise because he’s waiting for fresh cookies. Cookies aren’t made all that often in our house, so Cookie Monster is hungry. If Cookie Monster suspects there are kids playing in the kitchen and distracting Mom and Dad from making cookies, he gets a bit angry. He’ll swiftly exit the pantry without anyone hearing, take hold of the child offender and keep her behind the shelves until the cooking is done.
This worked masterfully.
The moment the words “Cookie Monster” left my lips, my daughter was tuned into the exact frequency needed to hear and understand me. Her eyes got big as I told what I knew of him. It was as if the Cookie Monster himself was telling his own story right in front of her. As I finished, she shot a glance at Mom. Then back to me. Mouth agape. She slowly backed out of the kitchen and asked me a question. “How does he fit in there?”
Shit. I wasn’t ready for the practical questions.
“I don’t know. I think he squeezes in behind the rice.”
Let me be clear: she was not afraid. Had she shown some real fear, I would have backed off. I’m not in the business of pushing kids off the edge of their 1.5-foot wide emotional plateau. Besides, the pantry is positioned immediately inside the door we use to access the house most often. I am not prepared to exit through the backyard every time we leave the house.
Stories are just one tool available. It seemed to work better than yelling or punishment or debating how hot something needs to be before someone gets burned. The story allowed me to get my point across to a three-year-old without being interrupted once. That’s worth something in this house. The author, Michealeen Doucleff, says stories “do what seems impossible to me: they turn misbehavior into play and replace power struggles with stories.”
Our daughter has had a lot of fun with stories. She’s always loved books with characters and has always asked to hear stories from our past. She may have the perfect personality and willingness to entertain these sorts of things. Since that first day, we’ve introduced her to other monsters. And, surprisingly, she’s introduced a few monsters to us also. She could probably use some more brainstorming with her stories, but her mind is in the right place. It’s proving to us that she is beginning to understand right and wrong, good and bad. She’s even telling her 1-year-old twin sisters to not throw their food on the ground or the Meal Monster is going to pay them a visit.
Just weeks ago tension would be created at the slightest infraction. Behavior correction was a chore, one that could never be complete. Asking a child to do, or not do, something would encourage the power struggle. I’m the parent, now that I’ve asked her to do something I can’t allow her to not do it. Then, the kid would test thresholds for patience by turning it into a negotiation. The monsters have changed all of that. I have a child who is a captive audience to whatever direction my imagination wants to go. My only hesitation is what kind of stories she’s repeating, or creating, to kids at her school. And whether those parents were prepared to validate some crazy monster their child heard about.
Maybe these stories are developing new connections between us. Maybe this is how she prefers to learn and our past methods are simply ineffective.
Later in the morning, the day Cookie Monster arrived, my daughter was helping me put a blanket on our bed. She was quieter than normal, deep in thought. Then she broke the silence. “Dad, is Cookie Monster just a legend?” I sensed this was a pivotal moment. My daughter was prepared to take on the role of Snopes, ready to call bullshit on any story lacking fact. I was not ready to pack up Cookie Monster’s bags and let him move out. Not yet. I needed to play the middle ground. “Maybe. But I don’t think I’m ready to find out for sure today.” I offered her a wink and a grin. She smiled back and we went about our day.