Attack of the Killer Plastic Toys

So, in our Early Childhood Family Education class this term, we've been talking about the effects that a child's environment has on his or her development and behavior -- and more specifically, the fact that most American children have WAY more toys than they even know what to do with. Supposedly, the average U.S. child consumes more than 70 toys a year. What happens when kids have that many toys? For one thing, they tend to be so overwhelmed that they don't play with any of them -- there's simply too much to choose from. For another, they have very little respect or appreciation of any of their toys (or, for that matter, any of the other material things in the house). For another, they tend to develop certain expectations, habits, or attitudes about the availability of material goods and their entitlement to those goods.

Check, check, and check.

Plus, having so many toys around creates a cluttered house that drives the parents bananas. One of the more amazing (negative) things about parenting is how much time I spend just managing the kids' stuff. And when it's stuff that they don't really play with, it's all the more frustrating.

Since most families think that they don't have a toy problem, ECFE suggests this exercise: Imagine putting all your toys in a pile in your living room. How much space do they occupy? For most families, it would be very difficult to fit everything onto a 9 x 13 area rug.

Intrigued by this question, last Saturday I decided to do a real world experiment. I announced that for their chore, the kids had to bring every single toy in the house to the 9 x 13 area rug in our living room. They responded with surprising enthusiasm. (We're also planning a garage sale, so this had a practical aspect to it, too.) After more than an hour and a half of hauling toys into the living room, here was the result:

As you can see, the toys spilled off of the rug onto the couches and the
rest of the floor...

...plus onto the dining room table, and the writing desk (background).

Another perspective on the main pile. Notice the empty shelves in the playroom.

The resulting mess did not include any of their many outdoor toys, nor the big doll house in the girls' bedroom (too big to move downstairs for this exercise), nor the art supplies and knick-knacks inside the desk, nor four bookcases full of children's books. Plus, we  kept finding toys around the house even after this was taken.

What to do? Well, according to the book that we're drawing from in ECFE, our goal should be to get rid of three-fourths of those toys. Here's some criteria they suggest for culling toys:

• If it's broken or missing pieces, it goes in the trash. No, you're never going to get around to fixing it or replacing the missing pieces -- that's just a fantasy. So get rid of it now rather than years from now.
• If it's no longer developmentally appropriate (e.g., baby toys in a household where the youngest child is five), get rid of it.
• If it's a toy that your child observes rather than actively plays with (think of all those toys that make noise and light up), get rid of it.
• If it's offensive or destructive, get rid of it (Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers are the bane of every kindergarten classroom).
• If it's designed in such a way as to offer a very limited range of play possibilities, get rid of it.

Still got too many toys? Divide the pile in half. Throw away one half. Divide the remaining pile in half again. Give away one half. Divide the resulting pile in half again. Put one half in storage.

It sounds radical, but the research -- and anecdotes I've heard from other parents -- support the idea that kids do better with a few high quality toys. Sure, they'll want more -- that's human nature, to always want more. We're born with that God-sized hole, right? But the truth is that nothing will ever fill that hole in a permanent, satisfying way (except God, of course). Not getting everything they want helps children develop self-discipline, and helps to retard the illusion that happiness lies in having rather than being. 

Are we going to go all the way on this? Nope. But my goal is to get rid of half of our toys -- accumulated over the course of ten years, after all -- and put half of the remainder in storage, to be rotated out occasionally.

I have to admit that this is very, very hard for me. Harder for me than for the kids, actually. With some of the toys, it's that in my head I'm still living in the moment where each child received the particular toy -- that moment of happiness and delight. Getting rid of the toy feels like taking it out of the hands of that happy child. 

But what I am finding is that, more often than not, the kids are pretty sanguine about getting rid of toys that they absolutely cherished at one point.

The other difficult layer on this is the waste. I think of how muchg money we (and our friends and relatives) spent on these toys. Our pile of toys probably cost something like $3,000 - $7,000 originally. It makes me wince to throw away a $20 toy, even if it's broken in a way that renders it unusable (and it's unrepairable, to boot). Plus there's the thought of the many children out there in the world who would find great pleasure even in a broken toy. I think of the kids in our friends' orphanage in Paraguay, for example. And then there's the environmental aspect: so much of what they have is cheap plastic you-know-what that gets played with for a few moments before being tossed into a landfill (McDonald's toy, anyone?).

No, we don't intend to eliminate toys from the kids' birthdays and Christmas celebrations. But going forward, I hope we can focus more on providing the kids with special experiences to mark those celebrations, and be more picky about what toys come into the house -- and how many.

'Cause given how many hours we've put into sorting and tossing this week (and the pile's only half gone!), I sure don't want to be repeating this in ten years!

The Art of Disciplina

As a parent, I've found it invaluable to remember that discipline is first and foremost about teaching and learning, not punishment (discipline comes from the Latin disciplina, meaning "instruction given, teaching, learning, knowledge"). Which is why I'm delighted with how well our Nurtured Heart Approach has been working out. Here's an update (first post on this topic here).

One optional part of the Nurtured Heart Approach is a points system. It helps to formalize what you're doing, and kind of takes the whole thing up to the next level. We opted to implement this for Jaybird -- and her older siblings, both to avoid jealousy and to create buy-in from them.

The picture above shows Bear during our end-of-the-day "conference" (we don't actually call it that -- we say "we're doing points now!"). We work from two sheets, one labeled, "Ways to Earn Points" and one labeled, "Ways to Spend Points."

The kids can earn points by doing or not doing certain things throughout the day. The "Earn" sheet is divided into three parts: rules, character bonus, and responsibilities. "Rules" are the bare minimum, and are stated in negative terms for the sake of clarity: no hitting, no yelling in anger, no disobeying parents, etc. "Responsibilities" are things they are just expected to do: picking up after themselves, getting downstairs by 7, in the car by 7:25, remembering to bring everything needed for school, playing with Mudpuppy, etc. "Character bonus" is "above and beyond" territory. Here we have "being grateful instead of jealous," "saying sorry," "forgiving someone," "smiling a lot," etc. Don't those sound like wonderful behaviors to have around the house?

Each of these items is assigned a certain number of points: 1, 2, or 4. At the end of each day, we review the day with each child. (The other children are off brushing teeth or reading; we've learned to do them separately to minimize "help" from siblings.) If a child was successful on a certain task, she receives the points available for that task. A child may earn partial credit for the bigger items if she was mostly successful on it. For example, "no yelling in anger" can be hard to be consistent on the whole day, but if the child was good about it for most of the day, she might receive partial points.

We keep track of the points by using candy as counters. We find that candy adds a little interest. Plus, they can eat the candy -- although doing so costs them points. We limit how much they can eat.

On the "Spend" sheet is all sorts of ways to spend the points. We list anything that is a privilege, from snacks to screen time to visiting friends, etc. "Normal" privileges cost very few points. "Extra" privileges that go beyond what they are normally allowed cost extra points. They can buy a 10-minute delay in doing a chore, or an extra half-hour of reading time before bed on non-school nights, or a half hour shopping trip, or choosing the meal for one day in the coming week, or chocolate milk, or a fun bath, or an extra half-hour of screen time, or chauffeur service (typically getting picked up from school). The hands-down favorite from Jaybird and Mouse has been sleeping downstairs on the couches, which we allow them to do for 15 points on non-school nights.

The point of all this (no pun intended!) is to be intentional about recognizing kids' behavioral successes. The basic assumption of NHA is that most kids want to be good, and that most kids respond to discipline more effectively when we put as much energy into recognizing their successes as we typically do into recognizing their failures. This was key for me -- realizing that a lot of my parenting energy was directed at deterrence and negative comments about what was going wrong. The idea of putting all of that energy into recognizing and reinforcing what was going right really appealed to me.

What the point system does is to create a time and place to be very intentional about recognizing the kids' behavioral and character successes. Just like in their video games, they earn points for following the rules and achieving certain goals. (And just like when they play a game, they sometimes pump their fist or say, "Yes!" when they get a lot of points.) Besides providing a strong incentive for good behavior, the privileges give the kids a certain degree of control and freedom. If you think about it, a lot of misbehavior is about kids fighting for that control. By providing a structured forum for them to "bend" the rules and earn privileges, you're providing an outlet for all that.

And when things don't go well? When someone's disobeying, or not fulfilling responsibilities? We get to impose a spending freeze on the points. Very simple, very straightforward; no long lectures or explanations, 'cause all the rules and expectations are already laid out. We just say, "OK, that's your choice. But your points are frozen until you ___." Every single privilege costs at least one point, so freezing points is like a super-timeout or grounding, without all the fuss and hysterics. One sentence, delivered in a very matter-of-fact way, then we walk away. No yelling required. I love it.

Keeping track of these points is a lot of work -- although we've figured out some tricks for streamlining it, like keeping the number of points as low as possible (less counting out candy) and doing all the accounting at once at the end of the day. Still, we spend half an hour, at least, going over this with all three kids at the end of the day. We have been doing it for about three weeks. My mom had said that it would be hard to maintain, and I can see why. Ideally, this will not be a "forever" project; ideally, as all of this becomes habit, the idea would be to take the training wheels off. For now, though, we've seen some great results -- as well as some unexpected side benefits.

In the results category, we've seen much better compliance with the basic rules. Yelling and arguments are not completely extinct, but on more days than not, we're awarding each kid full points for not arguing with their siblings. Hitting, which used to be an every-other-day sort of thing with the girls, has pretty much disappeared.  Big blowups from Jaybird are also becoming quite unusual; she still "loses it" occasionally, but since we've been ignoring them as well as praising her when she stops on her own, these tantrums have been getting shorter and less intense. The kids get 13 points for following all the basic ground rules; most days, they're getting all 13.

Positive behavior has increased, too. Since "gratitude" went on the list, we've been hearing a lot more "thank you's" and words of appreciation. The kids are also much more ready to say they're sorry and to forgive one another; after all, at the end of the day, they get four points for saying sorry, four points for forgiving, and lots of praise from us.

When Jaybird falls short on an item, she sometimes has a cute reaction. "Did you stick out your tongue at anyone today?" we'll ask. She'll pause to think about it ("ummm..."), then grin, hold up her index finger, and say, "Still working on it!"

Going over the list at night acts as a sort of examination of conscience for the kids; it teaches them to reflect on their actions. (A next step for us could be to link this explicitly to prayer, by asking the kids if they want to  pray for grace for anything they're "working on." We could also ask them whether they have anything they want to pray for forgiveness for.)

The list is purposely skewed to be positive; for instance, one of the items is "Smiling a lot during the day," something that Jaybird does most days. That way, even if she had a bad day in other areas, there's something positive to talk about. And that's another unexpected benefit: It's great to end the day on a positive note. The kids are visibly proud and happy about their successes.

One last unexpected benefit. Truthfully, at the end of the day, Starling and I are both tired, and usually cranky. Let's face it, kids are not adults; they don't know how to give space or not be annoying. They're needy by nature. So at the end of the day, sometimes, you just want them in bed. But then, when we go over that list, it's sometimes a revelation for us -- "Gee, these kids really hit most of these targets . . . they really were good today!" It causes a real attitude adjustment for us as parents when we realize that there were no arguments, no hitting, no yelling all day long -- and they were helpful, used kind words, had good table manners, or whatever else they did.

But cleaning their bedroom floor? They're still working on it. :)

My favorite discipline technique

All of that talk about the Nurtured Heart Approach is making me think of another discipline technique I like.

I learned this from another parent at my early childhood family education classes. When two kids get into one of those all-out fights that involves shouting and looks like it's headed toward violence, you tell them to each sit down on a stool. You explain to them that they need to talk it out, taking turns. When they do this at school, they use a "peace feather" to indicate who is able to speak; at home, we use the "peace rolling pin," since that is what is most handy. Plus the kids like to roll it on their laps as they're talking.

You pick one child to speak first, then hand her the rolling pin, promising the other child that they will get a chance to reply as soon as the first is done. Then you instruct the first child to tell the other child her grievance.   Once she feels done speaking, she hands the peace pin over, and the other child responds. They have to keep talking until the situation is resolved. And it's resolved when each child says it's resolved. Each child gives the other permission to get off the chair once it's resolved.

For really heated arguments, I stick around and coach -- maybe suggesting a sixty-second cooling off period, or advising someone that their language is making things worse, or gently suggesting the wording for a simple apology. A lot of times, it's more penny-ante bickering; in those cases, I pull out the chairs, hand them the peace pin, and say, "Talk it out." Then I walk away. I do this a lot when I get a kid coming to me complaining about something a sibling has done -- "___ slammed the door in my face!" or whatever. "OK," I say. "You need to tell ___ that. Pull up a chair and I'll get the rolling pin!"

The beauty of this arrangement? First, it takes me out of the role of negotiator/mediator -- I'm no longer responsible for sorting out who did what to whom. Second, it cuts down on the really trivial bickering, because the chairs serve as a kind of time-out; the longer they bicker, the more time they spend just cooling their heels instead of playing. Third, by making them responsible for resolving the conflict, they're learning an extremely valuable life skill; a lot of adults don't know how to argue well. And since I started doing this a couple years ago, I've noticed the older kids -- especially Bear -- using these skills independently to solve conflicts with siblings without things getting out of hand.

And no, no one has bashed anyone over the head with the rolling pin yet. It just makes me smile every time I say, "Let's get out the rolling pin, kids, and you work this out among yourselves!" It's dark, dark humor, but a parent is allowed his inside jokes.

Fairy spotting

It was fifty degrees and sunny today, and S came home early, so M and I went for a walk down to the lake. She is very fairy-crazy these days -- she especially likes building fairy houses out of sticks and other natural things she finds laying around. And she likes "fairy-spotting," finding signs of where fairies live. In the photo above, she is pointing out a fairy river that goes to a secret cave. And then today on our walk she collected sticks and made a little fairy house in the hollow of an old oak tree. After she got home she even made a little sign out of paper that said "Home Sweet Home."

While M and I were out walking, J was visiting her new best friend, a three-year-old from her class who lives just a short walk down the street. These two kids play together for hours very happily -- which has been a nice discovery for the boy's mother and me. Whichever house they're playing at, they're so totally absorbed in their pretend play that the adult on the premises is actually able to get tons of work done uninterrupted. Heck, we could probably even take a nap, which would be unthinkable with just one of the kids home alone.

And B was furiously cleaning the house. He cleaned out the car, cleaned the upstairs bathroom, swept the dining room, vacuumed the stairs, vacuumed the living room, straightened the library bookshelves, and put away his clothes. The key to this burst of activity? Our chore chart pays out. Cleaning out the car and cleaning the bathroom are $1 (each); vacuuming the living room is 25 cents; straightening books is 50 cents. And in order to collect these earnings, the kids have to do their regular chores for free -- cleaning up the living room, cleaning their rooms, putting away their clothes, etc. It all gets checked off on the chore chart, which has a space for totalling earnings. At the moment, B has his eyes on a $4 toy that he would like to buy -- hence the burst of activity. So while it's not completely gratuitous, it's gratifying to see that he's capable of working hard when he's motivated.

B does earn the golden halo award, though. We went to a surprise birthday party for a friend who survived a liver transplant, and the kids each got to take home a balloon. (You can see this one coming way down the road . . . . ) Well, M's balloon popped for no apparent reason, which resulted in great, great sadness. (By this point it was late, past their bedtime.) I tried to comfort her as best I could: "You know, maybe your balloon is in balloon heaven?"

"I don't think there IS a balloon heaven!" (You have to imagine this said through many tears and sobs.)

"Well, the Bible says that nothing good is ever lost forever; God catches every good thing and saves it."

"How could that be when my balloon is just lying there on the ground in pieces? I think it's just dead as a doorknob." More sobbing.

You have to appreciate that, besides the fact that it was past her bedtime, she had named this balloon and had been playing with it happily. Also, it was a very pretty deep purple.

Well, B very somberly and nobly carried his own yellow balloon across the hall from his room and gave it to M, offering words of consolation and comfort as he did so.

(Earlier, I had been trying to sympathize with M; she said she';d only had the balloon for half a night, and I said, well, and it wasn't even half a night, and B chimed in from the next room, "Dad, stop putting an extra weight on her soul!")

B even tied the balloon to her bookcases so it wouldn't pop on the ceiling like the other one had. This didn't completely comfort M, but it comforted me, and I lay down in bed with M until she fell asleep.

M cleans the bathroom! Without being asked!

So, M heard that "parents do nine chores for every one chore kids do" (she read this in American Girl magazine, which she regularly checks out of the library), so she secretly cleaned the bathroom for us. Have I mentioned that we might want to buy her a subscription to American Girl magazine???