Dear Hildegaard

Calvinism, tantrums, and your healing hugs

Dear Hildegaard,

Before I attend a Zoom meeting for work or head off to church, I usually sneak into the bathroom to throw on some makeup. Somehow, you sense when I am about to do this, and with your quiet, bare feet, follow me into the bathroom. I startle to see you suddenly at my side, waiting, with cheeks ready to be powdered. This morning you asked for some of my lipstick, and after I gave you a swipe, you rubbed your lips together the way you have seen me do a hundred times. You notice everything. You imitate everything (including my use of “Goodness!” and “of course!”) You sponge it all up, and I am left wondering what I have filled you with. 

When I told you the other night that you could always pray: “God, help me…” about anything on your heart, you were clearly listening. Because when Daddy was leading you to the corner for a timeout last night, I heard you say “Hep me, God!” God did not deliver you from your timeout, but I love that you asked Him to. It broke a tension in the room, and I started laughing and couldn’t stop. 

You are the sweetest person I have ever known. Your hugs heal parts of me I didn’t think could be fixed. You cover me up with your favorite blanket and remind me to make myself coffee because, “It make you sooo happy, Mama!” You make sure your stuffed bear, Ed, knows he is loved by giving him hugs and telling him to take his nap. You say hello to strangers in Walmart, and make sure Ron, our cat, always has food in his dish.

And, because you are two, you also throw tantrums. It wasn’t until recently that I began understanding how to approach these eruptions, and – believe me – I am still scrambling. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts on these things when you become a mom. I know you will have such wisdom. Right now, I’m trying to glean some from a neurologist, Daniel Seigal. He co-wrote a book called The Whole Brain Child where he explains what is going on in the brain during different stages of behavior and development. Seigal believes there are basically two types of tantrums and they demand two different responses. 

One type of tantrum involves only the lower part of the brain that is responsible for fear, anger, fight or flight response, etc. and does not engage the frontal brain, responsible for thinking, planning, and self-control. During these fits, a child is truly incapable of hearing reason until they are able to calm down and engage both parts of their brain (and young children also need help learning how to calm down and self-regulate, but that’s another topic). Seigal suggests that, during these tantrums, a parent ought to approach their child to soothe and redirect (even distract - humor sometimes works!) If a parent insists on discipline or trying to hold a reasonable conversation during these moments, it is useless. Ask me how I know. 

The second type of tantrum is the kind a child throws on purpose. Both parts of their brain are firing at once, and they are intentionally fussing to see what happens. During these fits, giving into the child’s demands will set unhealthy boundaries and teach them that kicking and screaming gets them what they want. These tantrums demand a firm response so the child learns that this behavior is not an effective or respectful method of communication. This is the one I wasn’t sure about. How am I supposed to tell which kind of tantrum you are having? If I can’t tell the difference, how will I know how to respond?

So, I prayed. I put down the book and asked God:

Help me understand what my precious Hildegaard needs. You created her so wonderfully. I want to get it right. Show me when she needs a soothing word and heaps of grace. And show me when she needs a firm boundary and a consequence. Give Evan and I wisdom every day. 

And then, beloved, I came home, and you showed me. You answered my prayer with…a tantrum. It was the willful kind. I could tell because you were using your fake cry and kept breaking character to chat about something in between kicks. This one didn’t demand comfort, but a firm reminder that fits won’t get you what you want. 

I see what Seigal is saying about different types of tantrums, but I do think they have something in common. They are both a test of love, to see if it lasts. One is more calculated than the other, but both produce the same eventual question in all children:

Do you still love me?

You don’t ask this in so many words. But I hear it later when you tiptoe into my room where I am sighing and trying to gather my strength, and ask: “You mad or you happy, Mama?” I see it in the way you wait for an invitation into our arms after a particularly intense bout of yelling and thrashing. I feel it in your baby body when we read you a story later, before bed, and you squirm and squirm until I whisper into your ear: “It’s all okay, baby. I love you,” and you finally go slack. 

I grew up drenched in the theology of Calvinism, so the concept of “total depravity” is always looming in my approach to scripture and people. I believe it is a theology well-supported by the Bible, but I also see how easily I can let it crowd out other truths if it becomes my only lens. In parenting, for example, if I interpret all your actions through this doctrine alone, I will see sin everywhere - even where it isn’t present. And this matters. Because, if Seigal is right about how brain development impacts our children, then sometimes their fits and struggles are a cry for help and comfort, not punishment. Sometimes – oftentimes – you really do just need a hug. For those who would call this notion “soft” or – gasp – “gentle parenting,” cool. Call it whatever you want. God created our brains, so understanding them seems like a good idea. But, as always, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m just praying my way through life, and in awe over the fact that I get to be your Mama.

Cover image by Ana Grave.