I Love You, Nana!

Lately I have noticed something about my four-year-old grandson, Jordan. Whenever he does something he knows (or thinks) is wrong, he says quickly, "I love you, Nana!"

I might not even be paying attention, but when I hear those words, first I am disarmed and pleased and then I am suspicious. My first reaction is to say, "Thank you, Jordy, I love you, too." But now I also look around to see what may have been broken or spilled. Often he has done something he thinks I will not like, so he tries to divert my anger before I have a chance to react. Recently he had knocked some pictures and magnetic letters off the refrigerator. Hardly a cardinal sin. But he apparently figured that I would be displeased, so out came those tell-tale words, "I love you, Nana!"

I replied in my usual way, then looked for the damage. When I saw what it was, I told him, "You didn't do anything wrong, Jordan. It was an accident. Let's pick up the letters and pictures."

Still, it gave me pause. Jordan seems to know what makes me angry - or what he thinks will make me angry - and opts for damage control rather than denial of the crime. He is obviously afraid of my anger, my reprisal.

I have worked on my temper over the years, but still it erupts from time to time. This is the child who will most likely push the envelope until I get mad and yell. I never feel good after I get angry. I realize that I have diverted the attention away from my grandchild's behavior and on to the aftermath of my anger. I do not want my grandchildren to be afraid of me.

The Connection Between Pain and Anger

When I hurt myself accidentally (bump my head on an open cabinet door, stub my toe, bump my shin on a sharp corner), as soon as I feel the pain I also feel a wave of anger wash through me. I am furious at the object that hurt me and also at myself for being so careless.

When my grandson falls and hurts himself doing something I warned him not to do, my first reaction/emotion is also one of anger. He needs comforting and a bandaid and I force myself to give these things, but I am also angry at him and I cannot stop myself for telling him that I told him this would happen.

He has just learned a valuable lesson on his own. The consequences of his actions are clear. I do not need to ram it home. If I could just wait until later, when he is all better and calm, I could then say in a kinder tone of voice, "Now do you see why I didn't want you to run so fast on the sidewalk in those shoes?"

So what is it that links anger to pain so intensely for me? A past life experience? A childhood experience no longer conscious, but lurking in my subconscious, ready to leap out at the first painful opportunity? I do not yet know. I just know it is an inevitable process. If I can be still for a minute or so after I hurt myself, the anger will wash through me and dissipate. I know this, but I cannot always resist smacking the cupboard door or the offending piece of furniture, often resulting in more pain. At least this action usually brings me to my senses.

Read more of Saralee Sky's articles in her online newsletter, Nutsense, on her web site: www.babynut.com.