"If you don't go downstairs and put on your shoes, NOW, we will never get out of this house and we'll miss dinner at grandpa's. Go. Now."

Ah, yes, every parent recognizes the "miss-out consequence" plea. We think the children will understand what they will miss and therefore snap to and get ready, out the door and into the car. I've tried it many times. After all, it's logical. Deductive; see:

All families that can't get shoes on—can't get out of the house.
Our family can't get shoes on.
Therefore, our family can't get out of the house.

Stay with me, here. There is another link in the cause and effect chain:

All families that can't get out of the house—miss dinner at grandpa's.
Our family can't get out of the house. (See above!)
Therefore, our family will miss dinner at grandpa's.

Perhaps my kids would understand my logic better if I wrote it like a math teacher:



OK, I know this logic is crazy. Many of my adult writing students don't "get" logic, especially when written in mathematical notation. So why do I keep thinking my toddlers will get it?

Truthfully, I imagine that my son does not even hear me when I try to motivate him with that beautifully logical consequences speech. See, he has Spider Man shoes. So when I say, "Hey—we have to go. Get your shoes on," he is suddenly thinking one thing and one thing only: Spider Man.

Getting ready, moving out the door, walking to the car, buckling car seats, driving 15 miles, seeing grandpa and eating dinner—are not even on his radar.


When I see him doing nothing related to shoes, I escalate to sharp staccato commands, "Kyan. Shoes. Now." And he'll lolly-gag toward the front door thinking: Spider Man.

Next thing I know, the little boy is distracted by a sippy cup and a sudden, desperate thirst. At points like this I am getting freakishly enraged, "I WILL GET YOU WATER WHEN YOU HAVE PUT ON YOUR SHOES." I force a smile and the salesman's head nod.

Even in this state, veins popping in my head, I believe the small man will see the connection. If he gets on his shoes (Spider Man), he will get the reward of a cool beverage. I really think he will get his eyes on the prize and focus on Velcro-strapping those shoes on.

Instead, I hear his whine in a familiar staccato cadence, "I. Want. Juice."

Of course he does. After several minutes of Spider Man fantasies, who could think that water would do the trick?

These are the times that I want to thank the part or parts of my brain that stop me from shoving sippy cups into unmentionable places. And I want to thank the parts of my brain that learn from my many, many mistakes as a parent. (By the way, is there a spot in the record books for most mistakes?)

I have learned, luckily, and I will share tried and true tips to get those kids to listen. But not now. I've put you through too much already. I will follow-up with the tips in a few days.

I can tell you this, though: not only will your kids' listening improve, your relationship with your computer will improve too. No extra charge. (Spider Man.)

Update: the tips are posted: 4 Tricks to Make Kids Listen.