The Power of a Promise

My daughter Savannah is going through the so-called "Terrible Twos".
Some challenges include not wanting to eat her dinner, claiming she's full, but always seems to have room for a snack; losing the strength in her lower body when I require her to stand up so I can wash her at bathtime; rubbing her eyes indicating her need for sleep but develops a sudden 'second wind' that culminates in jumping up and down on her mattress; and wanting desparately to watch "Dora the Explorer", but after a few minutes, wanders from the family room to the kitchen where my wife and I are talking to interrupt our conversation.
Bedtime is one of the biggest challenges.  After bathtime, we dress her in her pajamas and a clean pull-up.  Then she gets her two bedtime stories.
Then it's off to bed.  It's a tie between her wanting to be independent and wanting to ride out the 'baby' thing and be carried.
After putting on her music, then some teething gel (she's still cutting molars), she continues to resist attempts for us to lay her down and close her eyes.
We sometimes have to resort to taking her 'babies' out of her crib to get her to settle down, but it does work.
Most of the time.
After about five minutes, after we plop down in front of the couch with a glass of wine, the orange band on the baby monitor says she's started back up again.
My wife calls me "The Closer".  Here's why.
I go upstairs to address the situation.
I usually warn my daughter of my impending presence by clearing my throat at the top of the steps, or she hears the heaviness of my steps.
I open the door unsmiling.
Her gaze goes from glee to one of subdued gladness.  She knows Daddy means business.
Gently but firmly I say, "What is it, Savannah?"
"I want water," she says quietly.
I head to the bookshelf where her sippy cup of water awaits her.  I bring it to the crib.  She puts her hand out for it.  I pull it out of her reach to remind her of her manners.
"Please," she says coyly.
"If I give you your water, are you going to settle down and go to sleep?"
"Yeah," she whispers softly.
"Do you promise?  You know it's important to keep a promise, right?"
"Yeah."
"So you promise you're going to behave?  I don't want to come up here again for the rest of the night.  Do you promise?"
"Yeah".
Depending on the mood I'm in, we sometimes seal it with the 'pinky swear'.
I prefer 'yes' to 'yeah', but hey, she's only two.  We'll work on that later.
I give her the water.  I keep my hands on it as she drinks, because she has a tendency to chew on the nipple. 
She finishes and lays down.
She whispers softly "G'night, Daddy."
I tuck her two quilts snugly around her, then kiss my fingertips and apply them to her cheek.
"Goodnight, munchkin...I love you."
"Love you..." as she trails off to dreamland.
And she's quiet for the rest of the night.
She knows the power of a promise.  It's a powerful word.
Provided that it's a double-edged sword, and never one-sided.
Never make a promise to your child that you're unsure if you can keep or just unwilling to do so.
You don't have to even use the word...the mere implication is enough.
If you say you're going to do something very specific for the benefit of the child as a behavior modification technique, you've just made a promise to your child.
And broken promises are something your children will remember you for.  Because, right or wrong, you've just taught them how to lie.  You can't lie to your children in this manner (or any other for that matter) and expect them to not lie to you in return.  It's simply unrealistic.
The power of a promise will always endure if it's used properly and always kept intact. 
Never broken.


NEXT WEEK:  Putting the 'grand' in parents.