One thing that's important in child-parent relationships (and maybe the thing that's important) is unconditional love. It's important because it's the security blanket the child has to fall back on; the context of the relationship. If you know your parents love you, things make more sense, worries decrease, and it's much easier to weather the occasional and inevitable misunderstandings.
But how do you know your parents love you? Most kids are born to their parents, and the bonding and love come early and naturally. But for someone raised in an orphanage, and taken away by a pair of strangers, that knowledge takes time to develop.
The parent's actions - our actions - are important in demonstrating unconditional love, but it's not just actions that are important. Words are important, too. "I love you" means something.
Elena's old enough now that her command of English is pretty wide, and we can discuss both concrete and abstract concepts. We'll talk about love, and what that means. Interestingly, there's an opportunity to talk about love in the context of discipline.
A slight digression on discipline: Parenting experts recommend focusing on correcting a child's choices rather than correcting the child. In other words, saying "you made a bad choice, choose better next time," rather than "you were bad, be better next time." The former focuses on the child's decisions; the latter on who the child is. For those of you unfamiliar with this focus on choices, the difference may seem like semantic hair-splitting, but it is not.
In fact, it's a very useful technique to explicitly differentiate between a child's choices and who the child is, and it's particularly useful with an adoptee like Elena. Here's where the opportunity to talk about love comes in. Elena knows when she's made a bad choice, and sometimes, it seems, will be worried about if that changes our opinion of her. However, I can say with clarity "sometimes I don't like your choices, but I will always love you." That's unconditional love, and clearly separating her choices from who she is.
We'll occasionally turn this into a game, where I'll ask a Elena series of questions: "Do I love you when you make good choices?" "Do I love you when you make bad choices?" "Do I love you when you're mad?" "Do I love you when I'm mad?" The answer to every question is "yes," of course, so it's not a particularly challenging game, but it's a fun game. After a few serious questions, I'll start careening into the silly ("Do I love you when you're on the potty?") Luckily, Elena thinks this is a great game, so it will last until I run out of plausible questions.
Discipline isn't the only time we'll talk about love - it's an opportunity, but not the only opportunity. We'll tell her we love her, or Mama loves her, or Dad loves her at other scattered times. When we're reading, or eating, or just some random time. I've taken to occasionally whispering "I love you" in her ear as I tuck her into bed, enough so that I'll get often get an "uh-huh" in reply, pitched as if to say, "Yes, I know, I know." Which, if you think about it, is actually the whole point.
I tucked her into bed yesterday, told her good night, and walked out of the room. "Daaad," I heard. Elena will often have one last request, for a book or an animal or a drink or a kiss.
I poked my head back in the doorway. "What is it?"
"I love you, Dad," she said.
I love you too, kid. Unconditionally.
But how do you know your parents love you? Most kids are born to their parents, and the bonding and love come early and naturally. But for someone raised in an orphanage, and taken away by a pair of strangers, that knowledge takes time to develop.
The parent's actions - our actions - are important in demonstrating unconditional love, but it's not just actions that are important. Words are important, too. "I love you" means something.
Elena's old enough now that her command of English is pretty wide, and we can discuss both concrete and abstract concepts. We'll talk about love, and what that means. Interestingly, there's an opportunity to talk about love in the context of discipline.
A slight digression on discipline: Parenting experts recommend focusing on correcting a child's choices rather than correcting the child. In other words, saying "you made a bad choice, choose better next time," rather than "you were bad, be better next time." The former focuses on the child's decisions; the latter on who the child is. For those of you unfamiliar with this focus on choices, the difference may seem like semantic hair-splitting, but it is not.
In fact, it's a very useful technique to explicitly differentiate between a child's choices and who the child is, and it's particularly useful with an adoptee like Elena. Here's where the opportunity to talk about love comes in. Elena knows when she's made a bad choice, and sometimes, it seems, will be worried about if that changes our opinion of her. However, I can say with clarity "sometimes I don't like your choices, but I will always love you." That's unconditional love, and clearly separating her choices from who she is.
We'll occasionally turn this into a game, where I'll ask a Elena series of questions: "Do I love you when you make good choices?" "Do I love you when you make bad choices?" "Do I love you when you're mad?" "Do I love you when I'm mad?" The answer to every question is "yes," of course, so it's not a particularly challenging game, but it's a fun game. After a few serious questions, I'll start careening into the silly ("Do I love you when you're on the potty?") Luckily, Elena thinks this is a great game, so it will last until I run out of plausible questions.
Discipline isn't the only time we'll talk about love - it's an opportunity, but not the only opportunity. We'll tell her we love her, or Mama loves her, or Dad loves her at other scattered times. When we're reading, or eating, or just some random time. I've taken to occasionally whispering "I love you" in her ear as I tuck her into bed, enough so that I'll get often get an "uh-huh" in reply, pitched as if to say, "Yes, I know, I know." Which, if you think about it, is actually the whole point.
I tucked her into bed yesterday, told her good night, and walked out of the room. "Daaad," I heard. Elena will often have one last request, for a book or an animal or a drink or a kiss.
I poked my head back in the doorway. "What is it?"
"I love you, Dad," she said.
I love you too, kid. Unconditionally.
And THAT is what it's all about :) Nicely written and well put.
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