Good Cop, Bad Cop

I learned years ago that when my daughter was seriously upset about something -- say, at the crying stage, or just before -- the best thing I could do would be to sit there, next to her, speaking quietly but not provocatively. After she stopped actively crying, I would try to get her to laugh, which eased her transition from the depression. When she got old enough to realize that I would do this, she'd refuse to let me into her room when she was unhappy, and I'd respect that -- but when it sounded like she was calming, I'd ask her innocuous questions through the door, and simply the effort of answering -- even Go Away! - would start her back toward normality.

I thought about that this morning when -- after a breakfast in which she was in a great mood, teasing and laughing -- she abruptly melted down because a) she could only find one pink Tshirt, and she knew she had put two others in the wash, and b) she could not find the pants-- you know, the grey ones! -- that she wanted. My wife tends to take the rational approach -- did you look in the pile of clothes I put on your pillow? how about downstairs? -- which only works if she's already calm. I stay out of it, but once she's already had the meltdown, I offer alternatives, all of which will -- I can count on this -- be rejected, but once again, will get her into the mode of thinking and responding rationally -- well, semi-rationally.

Just now, she's informed me that there was no way she could get to the school, where she needs to be by twelve, in time unless we left at eleven (its ten minutes from here to the house of the girl we pick up, ten minutes there to get her into the van, and fifteen minutes from there to the school). Once she'd expressed her amazement that we couldn't do the math, I quietly offered to pick up the girl first, then stop by our house, pick up my presumably-pants-wearing daughter, and get to the school. Grudgingly, she accepted that this might work. Meanwhile, my wife hunted through her room for the pants - which she didn't find, but two Sharpies we'd lost, as well as a scotch-tape dispenser, did turn up. Oh, and in there, calm again, she told us that she found one of the missing shirts. We didn't ask where.

Good parent, bad parent.