HOW LONG MUST TWINS BE SEPARATED BEFORE THEY FORGET?
Two new novels follow the separate lives of twins whose parents thought it possible.
The twins are fraternal, a boy and a girl, with very different personalities. What could be more natural when Mom and Dad divorce than for Mom to keep the girl and for Dad to take the boy? “And never the twain shall meet” is the parents’ decision for the four-year-old brother and sister.
Kyleah’s Tree, by Janet Muirhead Hill, begins when Kyleah is eleven years old. She lives in a foster home because her mother died when she was five, and the grandparents she was sent to live with moved to a retirement home a year later. “We’re sorry, they don’t allow kids,” she was told before someone took her to a family of strangers. Is it any wonder that Kyleah has trust issues and determines not to make close friendships? “If I love them, I lose them,” she believes.
Many hair-raising adventures ensue when she and a thirteen-year-old foster brother run away, trekking from Kansas to Canada in search of families they have lost.
Kendall’s Storm, the companion novel, begins when the boy is ten-years-old going on eleven. His dad takes him from town to town and state to state, leaving each without notice or any time for Kendall to gather up his belongings to take with him. He is the timid twin who fears both his father’s wrath and just about everything else. He longs for his sister and carries a faded photo of the two of them taken just days before their fourth birthday—and their separation.
When Kendall rescues a dog from a hail storm, his loneliness is somewhat abated, his courage begins to grow, but his fateful adventures are far from over. Kendall has learned that when he dares to ask his father questions, he might not get an answer, and that when Dad doesn’t answer, it’s bad news. Two questions he’s learned never to ask are whether or not his sister and mother are alive and, if they are, why can’t he see them?
When Dad decides to settle in southwest Washington on Long Beach Peninsula, Kendall is not happy. He hates the cold dampness and is afraid of the ocean. When he learns that his father’s job is not with the FBI as Kendall liked to believe, but rather a drug dealer, Kendall is devastated and runs away only to be lost in the rain forest. After he’s rescued, Dad is arrested, and Kendall goes to a foster home where he lives with three other boys until a typhoon sweeps the area.
Kendall and Kyleah, twins with different innate traits, travel journeys that have almost no similarity. They live in very different settings, experience different life styles, and are influenced by different kinds of people. The foster homes they each live in are opposite—one kind and responsible, the other abusive and negligent. Yet, they share a bond like no other, a bond formed before birth and strengthened in the first four years of life. Book reading groups will find fodder for lively discussion as they compare and contrast these children’s stories. The comprehensive discussion guides in the back of each book will stimulate thoughtful debates for adult readers as well as for middle-grade students in classroom settings.
Each of these novels is an exciting, stand-alone read and both are now available. A third book will be released next year, completing this trilogy of twins.
For more information about these novels or to schedule an interview or a school visit, please contact the author at 406-685-3545 or e-mail her at author@janetmuirheadhill.com. These books may be purchased for $12.00 each at www.ravenpublishing.net, www.amazon.com, or in many fine stores.
Showing posts with label Parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Parenting. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
To scold or not to scold?
I once read in a Christian-published book on parenting that parents should NEVER scold their children or raise their voices in anger. I was surprised and confused by the admonition. I'd been scolded and whipped by my parents. My husband yelled at our kids, and I found myself doing the same—out of habit and frustration, perhaps, or because I believed it was what parents are supposed to do. 68 years of life have taught me why the advice from the parenting book is spot on. I've seen the results of scolding, effects that linger long into adulthood, if not throughout life. And I've seen effects of nurturing without scolding: well adapted children and young adults. Wow. The Golden Rule applies here, folks.
Every time a child is attacked with the sharp edge of an adult's rebuke, a piece of his or her self-esteem is whittled away. Soon the child has no self-confidence left. He doesn't trust himself or his elders and withdraws. He or she develops defensive strategies such as hiding, sneaking, stealing, and lying.
So what is the alternative to scolding? We can't just let them get away with bad behavior, can we? No, of course not, but take a look at what you are judging as "Bad." Make sure it is not the children. Kids will make mistakes, but that doesn't make them bad. It just means they're human—little human beings that are learning about life and about themselves as best they can with what they hear, see, and experience.
I like the advice that Kedric H. Cecil, Ph. D.* gives in his book, "Wisdom from the Streets." He says, and years of experience and observation back it up, "As parents we must use every opportunity to help our children feel good about themselves. In the middle of any interaction with them, we need to ask ourselves if our actions will enhance or detract from their self-esteem.
"The easiest way to accomplish that is to treat them the way we would like to be treated. Even though our parents may have done the best they could, if something did not feel right to us as children, it may not have been right, and we need to treat our children accordingly."
* Dr. Kedric H. Cecil specializes in working with at-risk children and their families, as well as those who have suffered physical and emotional abuse. He is adjunct professor in the Graduate Program in Counseling at Montana State University-Northern and is in private practice in Havre and Great Falls, Montana. See more about him and his book at www.wisdomfromthestreets.com
Monday, November 3, 2008
Releasing Suppressed Emotions/Healing with True Fiction
Perhaps it's because of a childhood experience that I empathize with a child separated from his or her parents—and why I write and publish books that express the trauma such children experience. It is my hope in publishing these books that readers will understand and accept their own feelings and know they are not alone. Too often, kids think that their feelings are wrong and that they are somehow to blame for the situation that has left them bereft. From the feedback I have received from kids reading these books, I know my hopes are realized. The books touch a sympathetic chord in the reader. The trouble is, these books are not popular with the adults who supply books to their children. They worry that True Fiction books will make kids sad—and that being sad is a bad thing. The truth is that tears are not only healing, but necessary in resolving emotional pain. If you wish to know how this process works see the "path of tears" to "emotional healing" at http://www.cyquest.com/pathway/3step_process.html
Books based on real emotion brought on by situations real kids face, which I call "True Fiction" are designed to help kids break through the blocks that keep painful emotions inside. When I was growing up, emotional blocks were put in place by the grown ups in my life who were given these messages when they were kids: Crying is for sissies, don't get mad, don't scream, and for heaven's sake, don't cry! Though it may not be as commonplace today, I think these messages are still being instilled in some kids.
I was nine years old when I got my first "job." I was thrilled and very proud of my prowess. I got to ride for neighbors, keeping tabs on a herd of dairy cows during the day, so that they could graze the grass growing along the quiet country road that ran by their house. After milking in the morning, Frank would let his cows out. An hour or two later, I'd saddle up one of his horses and ride out to see that they hadn't strayed too far. If they had gone more than 4 or 5 miles from home, I'd get them headed the other direction. I'd get on the horse and go check on them every hour or two.
Even though we lived only five miles from my employer, arrangements had been made for me to stay overnight. That way, no one had to drive over to pick me up and then take me back every day. It made sense, and I was fine with the arrangement—at first. There was one place along the country road that I could look across the river and the railroad tracks to see my home in the distance. As I sat on my horse and looked longingly at home, I wondered what my parents and siblings were doing and whether they missed me, I was overcome with homesickness. I wanted to be with my family. Each day, the sadness grew as I sat on Frank's horse and stared homeward. By the time I'd been away about two weeks, I felt I couldn't stand it anymore. The grief of missing my family overwhelmed me. That night, when the boss's wife, Lois, as was her habit, came into the bedroom I shared with their four-year-old son, to check on us, I produced an audible sob, rather than pretending to be asleep as I usually did. She asked what was wrong, and I told her. She phoned my parents who were already in bed, sleeping. "Tell her to go to sleep. We'll come get her tomorrow." Oh how I wish I'd been satisfied with that, but I thought I'd die of grief if I didn't go home that night. My employer and his wife bundled up their sleeping son, started up their old pickup truck which had no headlights. Lois held a flash light out the window as Frank drove. They saw me to the door where we woke my tired parent's again. The reunion was not the glad welcoming I had envisioned. Mom and Dad were embarrassed and outraged at the trouble I had caused the kind neighbors. I'll never forget the concern in my little sister's voice when she asked, "What's wrong with Janet? Is she sick?" and the scorn and disgust in Mom's when she replied. "No. She's just homesick" and ordered me to bed.
That incident further reinforced what I'd already been taught. Only sissies cry, and selfish feelings are not acceptable, so keep them hidden if you have them at all. What I learned later in life, however, is that emotions suppressed in childhood affected every aspect of my life as an adult. Years of therapy have helped me know intellectually, that permission to feel and express emotion is healing. How I wish every parent would encourage their children's expression of what is going on inside them and let them know something I didn't learn until I took child development in college: that it is okay to cry.
As I said in the beginning of this blog entry, the books I write and publish have a mission. Their purpose is to allow the reader to feel what is inside them by portraying the same feelings through true-to-life characters and events. Tears are healing. Unless children can confront his true feelings they will remain suppressed, and suppressed feelings are the source of inner pain, self abnegation, and a lack of self-esteem that keeps them from realizing their full potential.
The Miranda and Starlight series, through engaging characters, portrays the feelings of loneliness and abandonment of a young girl whose mother has left her to live with grandparents and go to a school where she feels unaccepted.
Through Danny's Dragon, kids relate to the loss of a parent who has died. They experience Danny's feelings as he deals with the denial, guilt, isolation, and anguish that are the natural stages of grief. Kids who have suffered the loss of a parent, close friend or even a pet are comforted to know they are not alone, their feelings are natural, and the loss is not their fault. Kids who haven't yet experienced the death of a loved one are better able to sympathize with those who have and better prepared for it when it does happen. Kids who are holding feelings of loss and grief inside will find a way to let the healing tears flow when they read this book.
Kyleah's Tree and Kendall's Storm (coming next year) bring to life the feelings and hardships associated with separation not only from parents, but from a twin or close sibling. Vicariously, kids who are orphaned or separated from loved ones for any reason will be able to experience and understand their own feelings. Tears will flow, but there will also be joy and satisfaction in the adventures and triumphs of the wisdom and growth they see in Miranda, Danny, Kyleah and Kendall.
Jenna MacDonald, An Inmate's Daughter, and her brother suffer not only the loss of a parent, but also the stigma that hounds them wherever they go, forcing them to keep a guilty secret and feel shame that is not rightfully theirs. With millions of children in the same boat, this book should be flying off the shelves and into the hands of kids who could find comfort in knowing they are not alone and that there is hope for them. Most of these millions, statistics say, will follow their parent's footsteps and become incarcerated themselves later in life. Why? Because no one takes gives them a chance. Intervention, it is shown, can make all the difference. Books like An Inmate's Daughter go a long way in helping. Every school and library should have one. Every child who has a parent in prison should read it. Every child who knows a child with a parent in prison should read it to understand and empathize with those who do.
Children who have read these books report that they love them because they can relate to the characters. They want to read more like them. Adults who think they are protecting their children by only getting them books that help them escape reality may be depriving them of books that will change their lives by evoking healing tears.
If you know of children who could benefit from True Fiction stories like those mentioned here, let them or their parents know about them—or better yet, give them one for Christmas. They may be found in book stores, Amazon.com, or from the publisher. (click here to order.)
Books based on real emotion brought on by situations real kids face, which I call "True Fiction" are designed to help kids break through the blocks that keep painful emotions inside. When I was growing up, emotional blocks were put in place by the grown ups in my life who were given these messages when they were kids: Crying is for sissies, don't get mad, don't scream, and for heaven's sake, don't cry! Though it may not be as commonplace today, I think these messages are still being instilled in some kids.
I was nine years old when I got my first "job." I was thrilled and very proud of my prowess. I got to ride for neighbors, keeping tabs on a herd of dairy cows during the day, so that they could graze the grass growing along the quiet country road that ran by their house. After milking in the morning, Frank would let his cows out. An hour or two later, I'd saddle up one of his horses and ride out to see that they hadn't strayed too far. If they had gone more than 4 or 5 miles from home, I'd get them headed the other direction. I'd get on the horse and go check on them every hour or two.
Even though we lived only five miles from my employer, arrangements had been made for me to stay overnight. That way, no one had to drive over to pick me up and then take me back every day. It made sense, and I was fine with the arrangement—at first. There was one place along the country road that I could look across the river and the railroad tracks to see my home in the distance. As I sat on my horse and looked longingly at home, I wondered what my parents and siblings were doing and whether they missed me, I was overcome with homesickness. I wanted to be with my family. Each day, the sadness grew as I sat on Frank's horse and stared homeward. By the time I'd been away about two weeks, I felt I couldn't stand it anymore. The grief of missing my family overwhelmed me. That night, when the boss's wife, Lois, as was her habit, came into the bedroom I shared with their four-year-old son, to check on us, I produced an audible sob, rather than pretending to be asleep as I usually did. She asked what was wrong, and I told her. She phoned my parents who were already in bed, sleeping. "Tell her to go to sleep. We'll come get her tomorrow." Oh how I wish I'd been satisfied with that, but I thought I'd die of grief if I didn't go home that night. My employer and his wife bundled up their sleeping son, started up their old pickup truck which had no headlights. Lois held a flash light out the window as Frank drove. They saw me to the door where we woke my tired parent's again. The reunion was not the glad welcoming I had envisioned. Mom and Dad were embarrassed and outraged at the trouble I had caused the kind neighbors. I'll never forget the concern in my little sister's voice when she asked, "What's wrong with Janet? Is she sick?" and the scorn and disgust in Mom's when she replied. "No. She's just homesick" and ordered me to bed.
That incident further reinforced what I'd already been taught. Only sissies cry, and selfish feelings are not acceptable, so keep them hidden if you have them at all. What I learned later in life, however, is that emotions suppressed in childhood affected every aspect of my life as an adult. Years of therapy have helped me know intellectually, that permission to feel and express emotion is healing. How I wish every parent would encourage their children's expression of what is going on inside them and let them know something I didn't learn until I took child development in college: that it is okay to cry.
As I said in the beginning of this blog entry, the books I write and publish have a mission. Their purpose is to allow the reader to feel what is inside them by portraying the same feelings through true-to-life characters and events. Tears are healing. Unless children can confront his true feelings they will remain suppressed, and suppressed feelings are the source of inner pain, self abnegation, and a lack of self-esteem that keeps them from realizing their full potential.
The Miranda and Starlight series, through engaging characters, portrays the feelings of loneliness and abandonment of a young girl whose mother has left her to live with grandparents and go to a school where she feels unaccepted.
Through Danny's Dragon, kids relate to the loss of a parent who has died. They experience Danny's feelings as he deals with the denial, guilt, isolation, and anguish that are the natural stages of grief. Kids who have suffered the loss of a parent, close friend or even a pet are comforted to know they are not alone, their feelings are natural, and the loss is not their fault. Kids who haven't yet experienced the death of a loved one are better able to sympathize with those who have and better prepared for it when it does happen. Kids who are holding feelings of loss and grief inside will find a way to let the healing tears flow when they read this book.
Kyleah's Tree and Kendall's Storm (coming next year) bring to life the feelings and hardships associated with separation not only from parents, but from a twin or close sibling. Vicariously, kids who are orphaned or separated from loved ones for any reason will be able to experience and understand their own feelings. Tears will flow, but there will also be joy and satisfaction in the adventures and triumphs of the wisdom and growth they see in Miranda, Danny, Kyleah and Kendall.
Jenna MacDonald, An Inmate's Daughter, and her brother suffer not only the loss of a parent, but also the stigma that hounds them wherever they go, forcing them to keep a guilty secret and feel shame that is not rightfully theirs. With millions of children in the same boat, this book should be flying off the shelves and into the hands of kids who could find comfort in knowing they are not alone and that there is hope for them. Most of these millions, statistics say, will follow their parent's footsteps and become incarcerated themselves later in life. Why? Because no one takes gives them a chance. Intervention, it is shown, can make all the difference. Books like An Inmate's Daughter go a long way in helping. Every school and library should have one. Every child who has a parent in prison should read it. Every child who knows a child with a parent in prison should read it to understand and empathize with those who do.
Children who have read these books report that they love them because they can relate to the characters. They want to read more like them. Adults who think they are protecting their children by only getting them books that help them escape reality may be depriving them of books that will change their lives by evoking healing tears.
If you know of children who could benefit from True Fiction stories like those mentioned here, let them or their parents know about them—or better yet, give them one for Christmas. They may be found in book stores, Amazon.com, or from the publisher. (click here to order.)
Friday, October 3, 2008
Battles of Will
"It is a great mistake to command when you are not sure you will be obeyed," said Honere, Compte de Mirabeau
This morning's quote for the day reminded me of Jenny's story. Jenny was a precocious two-year-old, eagerly exploring her world to learn for herself how everything worked. With typical two-year-old zeal, she explored her own independence, as well. Wrapped in love by her parents and two adoring older siblings, and with a gregarious personality spurred by curiosity, she developed a quick wit and larger than usual vocabulary. She had been a sickly baby, and was used to being doted upon; her needs met with anxious concern by her mother.
Alvin, her father, a proud, hard-working man, who loved his children, took his job as head of the household very seriously. He had learned all he knew about parenting from his own mom and dad and the general "wisdom" of the day that said things like, "Children should be seen and not heard." "Parents, train up a child in the way it should go." "Children, obey your parents." "If you spare the rod, you'll spoil the child." "It is the parent's responsibility to break the will of a strong-willed child." What he didn't know is that in a battle of wills between a parent and a child there is no winner. It is a lose-lose situation if ever there was one.
It was dinner time on the ranch, dinner being the noontime meal and the biggest meal of the day for a family that rose early to milk the cows before beginning work in the fields. The family sat around the kitchen table enjoying the pleasant repast—until jenny, in her high chair—said, "I want more milk." Mom replied, "What do you say, Jenny?"
"I want more milk," the two year old repeated. "No, Jenny, I meant you need to say please." A flash of understanding radiated Jenny's face for a split second before it reddened slightly. It was as if she thought. "Oh, yeah. They shouldn't have had to tell me that." But that expression quickly changed to a look of determination as she thought again. "Why should I have to say please to get my milk? I never had to before."
"Jenny, your mother told you to say please, now say it." Alvin ordered, resting his hand on his wife's arm as she reached for the pitcher of milk. He couldn't let this little girl disobey her mother. He'd have a rebellious child on his hand if he didn't nip this problem in the bud.
Jenny shook her head, stubbornly. "Jenny, say please right now, or I will have to spank you," Alvin commanded.
"No!" Jenny said, alarmed at the way her simple request for milk was turning out, but determined not to back down. Didn't they owe her the milk? Wasn't it hers for the asking? She was not going to beg for it.
Alvin rose from his chair, hoping that the motion would be all it would take to put fear into the toddler and evoke the desired response. It didn't. Neither did lifting her from her highchair. "Are you going to say please, or am I going to have to spank you?"
Jenny, wide eyed, refused. Surely her daddy wouldn't hurt her. He never had before. A simple swat didn't elicit the desired, "please." Jenny only cried out in alarm. Alvin was determined. He had gone this far. How could he possibly back down without appearing weak in front of his children; without giving them the upper hand? Letting her win would teach her and her watchful siblings that they didn't have to obey. The blows got harder until Jenny was crying so convulsively that she couldn't have spoken a word if she had wanted to. Defeated and angry, Alvin put her to bed and closed the bedroom door with the futile command to Jenny to "Quit crying!"
"Don't go in there or let her come out until she quits crying and says she's sorry," he told his family as he went outdoors. Back at work, he felt worse about himself and his job as a parent than he ever had before.
Jenny was left to sob convulsively until she fell asleep in exhaustion. When she awoke, she was changed. Her mother would tell her in later years that the difference was night and day. Jenny was no longer outgoing and happy, but subdued, shy, withdrawn and even functionally mute much of the time. "It's as if your spirit was broken that day," her mother said. And indeed, it was; broken beyond repair.
The best lesson we can glean from this true story is to carefully and completely avoid battles of will. There are better ways. Whenever possible, give the child choices. Let her be the one to make the decision. When my grandson refuses to brush his teeth, I ask, do you want to do it by yourself, or do you want me to brush them for you? He will choose one or the other, and either way the result is that his teeth get brushed. The same with washing his face and hands, picking out his clothes for the day. When he refuses to dress himself, his mom might say, "Do you want to get dressed now and eat breakfast with us, or do you want to sit in time out first?" It's his choice, and he usually chooses to dress right away. If not, and his breakfast is late, the consequence is the result of his own choosing. He learns that it is he who controls the outcome, for better or worse.
As adults, we often underestimate our children's ability to understand. If we take the time to explain to them why we are asking them to do something, or why we are refusing a request, they will find it easier to accept. They might tell you, if you listen, where they are coming from on the issue, and at times, you may see that they are right. Communication beats "Because I said so!" at least 95% if not all of the time.
A parent should carefully consider whether an issue is worth a confrontation. In the case of Jenny and the milk, I don't think it was. If the parents had said, "Of course you may have milk, Jenny. But you know what? Big people always say, please, when they ask for something. It's called being polite. You may want to try it next time." Or, better yet, just give her the milk and say nothing. I have observed that children adopt the polite words on their own by observing and imitating the adults around them. It's what kids naturally do.
"With a strong willed child it's more about communication than control. We are all given free will- a strong willed child just seems to have discovered it a bit sooner than we would have liked. When a strong willed child is presented with commands, rather than choices, his default behavior will be to buck authority because he feels like his choices have been taken away. Giving a strong willed child two choices you can live with, works better than a command. 'We need to go, do you want to wear shoes or sandals?' works better than 'Put on your shoes,'" author and America's Nanny, Michelle LaRowe suggests at http://www.familiesonlinemagazine.com/nanny/strong-willed-child.html where you'll find more expert advice on parenting the strong-willed child.
This morning's quote for the day reminded me of Jenny's story. Jenny was a precocious two-year-old, eagerly exploring her world to learn for herself how everything worked. With typical two-year-old zeal, she explored her own independence, as well. Wrapped in love by her parents and two adoring older siblings, and with a gregarious personality spurred by curiosity, she developed a quick wit and larger than usual vocabulary. She had been a sickly baby, and was used to being doted upon; her needs met with anxious concern by her mother.
Alvin, her father, a proud, hard-working man, who loved his children, took his job as head of the household very seriously. He had learned all he knew about parenting from his own mom and dad and the general "wisdom" of the day that said things like, "Children should be seen and not heard." "Parents, train up a child in the way it should go." "Children, obey your parents." "If you spare the rod, you'll spoil the child." "It is the parent's responsibility to break the will of a strong-willed child." What he didn't know is that in a battle of wills between a parent and a child there is no winner. It is a lose-lose situation if ever there was one.
It was dinner time on the ranch, dinner being the noontime meal and the biggest meal of the day for a family that rose early to milk the cows before beginning work in the fields. The family sat around the kitchen table enjoying the pleasant repast—until jenny, in her high chair—said, "I want more milk." Mom replied, "What do you say, Jenny?"
"I want more milk," the two year old repeated. "No, Jenny, I meant you need to say please." A flash of understanding radiated Jenny's face for a split second before it reddened slightly. It was as if she thought. "Oh, yeah. They shouldn't have had to tell me that." But that expression quickly changed to a look of determination as she thought again. "Why should I have to say please to get my milk? I never had to before."
"Jenny, your mother told you to say please, now say it." Alvin ordered, resting his hand on his wife's arm as she reached for the pitcher of milk. He couldn't let this little girl disobey her mother. He'd have a rebellious child on his hand if he didn't nip this problem in the bud.
Jenny shook her head, stubbornly. "Jenny, say please right now, or I will have to spank you," Alvin commanded.
"No!" Jenny said, alarmed at the way her simple request for milk was turning out, but determined not to back down. Didn't they owe her the milk? Wasn't it hers for the asking? She was not going to beg for it.
Alvin rose from his chair, hoping that the motion would be all it would take to put fear into the toddler and evoke the desired response. It didn't. Neither did lifting her from her highchair. "Are you going to say please, or am I going to have to spank you?"
Jenny, wide eyed, refused. Surely her daddy wouldn't hurt her. He never had before. A simple swat didn't elicit the desired, "please." Jenny only cried out in alarm. Alvin was determined. He had gone this far. How could he possibly back down without appearing weak in front of his children; without giving them the upper hand? Letting her win would teach her and her watchful siblings that they didn't have to obey. The blows got harder until Jenny was crying so convulsively that she couldn't have spoken a word if she had wanted to. Defeated and angry, Alvin put her to bed and closed the bedroom door with the futile command to Jenny to "Quit crying!"
"Don't go in there or let her come out until she quits crying and says she's sorry," he told his family as he went outdoors. Back at work, he felt worse about himself and his job as a parent than he ever had before.
Jenny was left to sob convulsively until she fell asleep in exhaustion. When she awoke, she was changed. Her mother would tell her in later years that the difference was night and day. Jenny was no longer outgoing and happy, but subdued, shy, withdrawn and even functionally mute much of the time. "It's as if your spirit was broken that day," her mother said. And indeed, it was; broken beyond repair.
The best lesson we can glean from this true story is to carefully and completely avoid battles of will. There are better ways. Whenever possible, give the child choices. Let her be the one to make the decision. When my grandson refuses to brush his teeth, I ask, do you want to do it by yourself, or do you want me to brush them for you? He will choose one or the other, and either way the result is that his teeth get brushed. The same with washing his face and hands, picking out his clothes for the day. When he refuses to dress himself, his mom might say, "Do you want to get dressed now and eat breakfast with us, or do you want to sit in time out first?" It's his choice, and he usually chooses to dress right away. If not, and his breakfast is late, the consequence is the result of his own choosing. He learns that it is he who controls the outcome, for better or worse.
As adults, we often underestimate our children's ability to understand. If we take the time to explain to them why we are asking them to do something, or why we are refusing a request, they will find it easier to accept. They might tell you, if you listen, where they are coming from on the issue, and at times, you may see that they are right. Communication beats "Because I said so!" at least 95% if not all of the time.
A parent should carefully consider whether an issue is worth a confrontation. In the case of Jenny and the milk, I don't think it was. If the parents had said, "Of course you may have milk, Jenny. But you know what? Big people always say, please, when they ask for something. It's called being polite. You may want to try it next time." Or, better yet, just give her the milk and say nothing. I have observed that children adopt the polite words on their own by observing and imitating the adults around them. It's what kids naturally do.
"With a strong willed child it's more about communication than control. We are all given free will- a strong willed child just seems to have discovered it a bit sooner than we would have liked. When a strong willed child is presented with commands, rather than choices, his default behavior will be to buck authority because he feels like his choices have been taken away. Giving a strong willed child two choices you can live with, works better than a command. 'We need to go, do you want to wear shoes or sandals?' works better than 'Put on your shoes,'" author and America's Nanny, Michelle LaRowe suggests at http://www.familiesonlinemagazine.com/nanny/strong-willed-child.html where you'll find more expert advice on parenting the strong-willed child.
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