You know those parenting articles that say things like “respond, don’t react”?
I read one of those the other night at about midnight while stress-eating biscuits and pretending I had control over my life.
The article suggested something called calm parenting.
The idea, apparently, is that when your child is having a meltdown you remain peaceful, grounded, and emotionally regulated.
Like a yoga instructor.
Or a forest.
Anyway, this morning I decided I was going to try it.
Albert woke up at 6:04am, which is already a hostile start to the day.
He came into the bedroom holding one sock and looking like a man who had important business to conduct.
“Train.”
This meant he wanted to watch train videos on the tablet.
Normally I would negotiate. Or delay. Or pretend the internet was broken.
But today I was calm parenting.
So I smiled.
“Let’s have breakfast first.”
He stared at me.
Not angry. Not upset.
Just confused that I had spoken words he did not approve of.
Then he threw the sock.
Straight at my face.
Now, the calm parenting articles say this is the moment where you breathe deeply and say something like:
“I see you’re feeling frustrated.”
So I tried.
“I see you’re feeling frustra—”
He screamed.
Not a small protest scream. A full-volume emergency siren that suggested I had personally cancelled Christmas.
Still calm.
Still grounded.
Still a forest.
“Let’s take a breath together.”
Albert responded by lying on the floor like a starfish and kicking the kitchen cupboard.
I crouched down next to him because the article said you should “meet them at their level”.
Which apparently means sitting on a cold kitchen floor at 6:12am while your child screams and your neighbour’s dog barks like the apocalypse has begun.
I attempted another calm phrase.
“I’m here with you.”
Albert grabbed my glasses.
And threw them into the fruit bowl.
At this point I began to suspect calm parenting may have been invented by people whose children wake up after 8am and politely request porridge.
Eventually the storm passed the way it always does.
Not because of my emotional regulation.
But because Albert spotted a train outside the window and instantly forgot he had been conducting a dramatic protest against breakfast.
Peace returned.
He sat happily eating toast.
I drank tea and stared into the middle distance like someone who had survived a small natural disaster.
Later I re-read the article.
Apparently consistency is key.
You have to keep practicing calm parenting even when it feels impossible.
Which I suppose makes sense.
But tomorrow morning if a sock hits me in the face again, the forest might briefly turn into a volcano.