I don’t mean to boast, but I suspect my children are training for careers in journalism. How can I tell? They have an insatiable urge to report every minor detail. They scramble to be the first to share their “breaking news” with me, often pushing each other aside to ensure I hear their story first. With all the enthusiasm of a news anchor, they shout over one another, desperate to get their words heard.
However, if they aspire to be successful in the media world, they need to learn an essential lesson: not every incident is worth reporting. Of course, I need to be informed about significant happenings, like “Someone is coloring on the wall with your lipstick!” or “There’s a bleeding emergency here!” But the trivial grievances, such as “He said I have weird hair,” or “He tried to dip his toe in my cereal,” drive me up the wall.
These unnecessary complaints are often delivered in an ear-piercing tone that could rival an alarm. I can always spot the impending drama by the high-pitched “Mom-meeeeeee?” that crescendos with each syllable. Then comes the inevitable: “He said I look funny!” “He called me ‘green’!” “He said my pajamas are ugly!”
I genuinely want my kids to know I am there for them and that they can approach me with important issues (the emphasis being on “important”). But how do I convey that they should share some things while leaving me be about others? It’s one of those parenting conundrums that feels contradictory—like when we tell kids, “Never take candy from strangers, except on Halloween when it’s from people you don’t know.” It’s tough for them to distinguish what deserves attention because in their minds, being called “smelly” is a major crisis.
Generally, I choose to ignore the trivial tattles. Responding would only reinforce the idea that such matters warrant my attention. For instance, just the other day, one of my children complained, “My brother called me a silly face!” I replied, “Are you a silly face?” After a moment’s thought, he concluded, “No.” “Then it’s not a big deal, so go play.”
My approach is simple: if no one is injured or engaged in risky behavior, I either tune out the complaints or dismiss them outright. Yes, I want to be alerted if one of my kids is attempting to jump off the furniture, but if the worst they can muster is “he said I’m shaped like a potato,” then they can work it out themselves. I see this as a valuable lesson in conflict resolution.
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In summary, while my kids are eager to share their every thought, I find it essential to teach them the difference between the important and the trivial. By focusing on significant issues, I hope to foster their ability to resolve conflicts independently.