He enters the nursery with an enthusiastic squeal. All those toys waiting to be played with! Block towers to be built! Puzzles to dump out on the floor! The room designed especially for toddlers will be his kingdom for the next hour or so.
I keep an eye on him. It’s my week to serve in the nursery, and while there are two other helpers, we have ten busy children to supervise — enough to keep us busy.
This particular little boy has a theory: “That toy is mine.”
The theory applies to any toy he is playing with, any toy he was playing with, any toy he wants to play with, and any toy he thinks he might want to play with later. He doesn’t hesitate to grab toys out of other children’s hands, or to play tug-of-war tirelessly — using a death grip on the desired object and loud screams as his weapons of choice. He relentlessly lays claim to anything and everything that catches his eye.
I spend a good chunk of my hour-and-forty-five-minutes of nursery duty letting him know that type of behavior is unacceptable. I return the toy giraffe to the little girl at the table. I point the grabby little boy in the direction of the piles of toys currently un-claimed by his competitors nursery-mates. I say, “No grabbing” more times than I can count.
His response? Initially, he lets out an angry howl, furious that I won’t let him get his way. He might stomp a little foot, flap his arms, even shed a tear or two. But I remain tough. There’s no arguing about it: stealing, grabbing, wrenching or otherwise taking toys from other children simply won’t be tolerated. It only takes 10 seconds or so for him to realize that I won’t give in; he then moves on to his next project. If I’m lucky, it’s a toy that no one else is playing with at the moment.
This little boy is my son, L..
Have you noticed that parenting has a way of taking our pride, crumpling it up in a little ball, and throwing it out the window? I’m suddenly mortified, wondering what the other nursery workers think.
I remember when I was a regular in the 2-year-old room. One particular little guy was known for hurling wooden blocks at other children. I would often think, “Don’t this kid’s parents ever discipline him? They must not, or he wouldn’t act like this!”
And now here I am, the mother of the nursery bully.
In all fairness, he’s not the only bully. Other kids were grabbing toys, arguing over the rocking horse. But my little L. definitely has a lot to learn about social skills, kindness, sharing, and proper behavior.
It’s possible that he is not always a terror. My fellow nursery-worker assured me that the other times she’s watched him, “he was always just a sweet little boy.” Then again, maybe she was just trying to make me feel better.
Yes, we discipline him at home. And for the most part, he’s learned that No means No. Sure, he tests his boundaries, and he can be rather stubborn, but we hold him to the house rules. But apparently, the nursery is a whole new territory for him, one that he thinks he might be able to rule if he tries hard enough.
And so he tries. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
I’m sure that being determined and persistent will pay off for L. in the long run. Those characteristics will serve him well as he grows up. But in the meantime, I’d best dust off my copies of Raising Your Spirited Child and The Strong-Willed Child and engage in a little refresher course. As age 2 approaches, I have a feeling he’ll keep me on my toes.
The little nursery bully turns from the scattered blocks — remnants of an elaborate toddler-built tower. He seeks me out, runs over, and leans his head on me. Then he turns, looks up, and smiles his sweet smile. He’s a toddler, one with much to learn. But one that has stolen my heart.
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