It Takes a Laptop: Parenting in the Age of Facebook

I didn’t mean to issue an ultimatum to my toddler.  But a Saturday morning request began a seven hour showdown, played out in real time on Facebook.  But I would win. Wouldn't I?

Saturday started normally.  

Since my husband was doing military service, I baked cinnamon rolls for my three kids as a special treat.  My toddler Naomi, however, became impatient waiting, so she got herself out of the highchair, found a jar of coins, and dumped them on my table.

Great, I thought.  Nothing like some grimy coins to enhance breakfast.  As the oven slowly warmed and reached 325 degrees, however, I realized it would be a good opportunity for her to learn to sort and become familiar with American money.  (Newly adopted from Africa, everything is new.)  

We definitely learned a thing or two.

She played with the coins, while I made coffee. After twenty minutes, the house full of the sweet aroma of cinnamon, I said nonchalantly, “Okay, put up the coins so we can wash your hands and eat!”  You would’ve thought I’d invited her to a duel at high noon.

I got the rolls out of the oven, smeared wonderful icing over them, and placed one at her high chair. When I looked up, however, Naomi was still sitting on the kitchen table, amidst a hundred coins.  Instead of putting them up, she’d dumped them out.

 “Naomi, you’re not getting off that table until you pick up the coins,” I said.  These are the types of things you say when you think you’re dealing with a reasonable human instead of someone who might take her diaper off at any moment and give it to the dog.

I braced myself for what might be a slightly uncomfortable showdown, letting her sit on the table until she decided to obey.  Three hours passed.  My other kids had eaten their breakfast, I’d had two cups of coffee, and Naomi was still sitting on the table.

To be specific, she was sitting on the table stuffing coins into her little socks.  Why?  I have no idea.  But the fact that she was physically and intellectually able to move the coins from one area to the other only strengthened my resolve.

I posted my plight on Facebook, and immediately encouragement poured in from all over the nation.  My friends from high school agreed that I was doing the right thing.  My new friends from church commiserated.  

It’s past breakfast, past lunch, past nap. I'm still strong. (I've used other forms of discipline too.)

The Facebook support kept coming.  Some friends suggested alternatives as the hours progressed.  At hour four, I updated again:

Are archeologists going to find our skeletons here, with perfectly preserved coins from a place that used to be known as America?

My mom and dad called to discuss it.  My husband’s friend from law school was concerned I wasn’t handling this situation well.  My sister threatened to send a pizza delivery with special instructions to hand it to the black baby sitting in all the money.  Also, she talked to a psychologist about the circumstance, who said I should avoid withholding food from a former orphan who had been severely malnourished.

Oops.  She had a point.  Is that what I was doing?  Sure, she hadn’t eaten in seventeen hours.  But the cinnamon roll was right there next to her.  All she had to do was stick some coins in a jar, and she could have all the sweet sticky goodness she wanted.  Was I really keeping food from a baby?  Was I using it as a reward for behavior?  She hadn’t eaten in eighteen hours.

These are the things you think about as you approach hour five of a stand off with a toddler.  By that time, I was convinced I’d ruined her life.  After all, she didn’t even understand.  And look at those big brown eyes. All she wanted to do was play in money…   who cares if she stuck that penny in her mouth?  I’m sure the homeless guy’s cup from which it may have come had been washed out by vodka-enhanced vomit that was clean-ish.

Snap out of it, I thought, confused by her cuteness.  I wasn’t using food as bait.  Rather, I needed to wash the grime off her hands, so I wanted to coins up first.  It wasn’t a “reward” for behaving, any more than food is a reward for washing one’s hands.  She had to do things in the right order.  On that morning, the order was 1. Put up money, 2. Wash hands, 3. Eat.  I wasn’t asking her to memorize the Gettysburg Address.

The Facebook comments kept coming in.  Some suggested compromise.  Others suggested different forms of discipline – believe me, I’d tried it all!  Still others said they were going to come get her. I updated my Facebook page.

Hour six. Nerves are frazzled. Remember we also have a language issue to deal with too. It's not like we can have high-level discussion about cause/effect. So.... I stood over her and pointed at each coin, at which ...point she would SLOWLY put the coin in the jar. Looking at the hundreds of coins on the table, I realized I was NOT going to do that. When she slowly moved her hand to the jar, I realized she was just being completely disobedient. I disciplined her, put her in the crib, hugged her, and told her that when she wakes up she'll have to put the coins in the jar.  Sigh....

People, worried about my resolve, shared their own tales from toddlerhood.  Even an elder at church weighed in.  When Naomi woke from her nap – a mere hour later probably because she hadn’t eaten – I put her right back in her chair at the table.  “Pick them up,” I said, loud enough for my neighbors to hear.  I’d like to say the nap helped me have perspective, but it only made me angry.  By that time, we were in hour seven of the standoff, and this was not how I intended to spend my Saturday.

Then as suddenly as a tropical rainshower, she started picking up the coins.  For seven hours, she acted like she didn’t understand.  Then, for whatever reason, she gave up.  One by one, in a slow laborious process, she picked every one of them up. Even got down on the floor and picked up the ones she’d dropped.

When I Facebooked “I won,” I got all kinds of texts, messages, and e-mails.  Then, I clarified: “Really, she won. Because she’ll get along better in this world if she learns the simple lesson that everyone is under authority in this world. Even the President has to answer to the voters every four years.”

I even got a note from a faraway friend, “Nancy, politically, we don't agree on a lot, but I agree with you on this.”  

My maid of honor at my wedding wrote, “My Mothering Policy #237: I do not negotiate with terrorists or 2 yr-olds.”

Seven and a half hours, two meals, one snack, and almost sixty comments had happened since the showdown began.  Then, she looked at me and said “I did it!”  She sounded as surprised as I was.  

I scooped her into my arms, this little girl who’d brought both Republicans and Democrats together as nothing more than a group of parents determined to do the right thing.  

And I thought to myself, “I did it!”

But I’m honestly not sure I could’ve done it without the constantly stream of notes, texts, messages, and – yes – tweets of encouragement.  It takes a village?  Today, it only took a laptop and about seven hours.

Maybe next time, it’ll only take six.