On August 23rd, 1973, two machine-gun carrying criminals entered a bank in Stockholm, Sweden. The two bank robbers held four hostages, three women and one man, for the next 131 hours. The hostages were strapped with dynamite, and kept in the bank vault until they were finally rescued on August 28th.
After five days in captivity, the hostages exhibited some very shocking behaviors considering the conditions surrounding the event. In media interviews following the robbery, it appeared they actually empathized with their captors. One woman later became engaged to one of the criminals, and another woman actually started a legal defense fund to aid in their criminal fees. Clearly, the hostages had “bonded” emotionally with their captors.
This conditional form of psychological bonding became known as “Stockholm Syndrome” due to the publicity, and was more broadly defined as the tendency of a hostage to bond with, identify with, or sympathize with his or her captor.
After a rather tragically cool first week of June, the sun finally made a welcome reemergence. The Mother decided an afternoon walk with the girls to retrieve the Boy from the bus stop……could be fun. Approximately 4 minutes and 27 seconds into their trek, the Mother realized why some animals species eat their young….it likely took place after a road trip.
The Brunette was insistent on riding the half-mile to the bus stop….in the family’s red wagon. It’s critical that you are aware that this is not a normal wagon. This all-terrain, 300 lb. capacity, solid wood wagon is very stout. This particular acquisition was made…..courtesy of the Father…whom the Mother is certain does not possess the ability to do anything…..at half speed.
In the Mother’s mind, the dream scenario would have been for the Baby to also ride in the wagon with the Brunette. Unfortunately, the Uber-Blonde Baby had recently entered a new…. and rather unattractive phobia stage, which seemed to be manifesting in the form of irrational levels of fear. At present she was terrified of three things: 1.) the Mother leaving her….even with people she knows well, 2.) things that have wheels…..specifically things designed to aid in her transportation, 3.) and bugs….real or plastic. These particular phobias were making outings rather….challenging.
The struggle is real, people.
The Blonde did not want to ride in the wagon to the bus stop. She instead had it in her mind that she wanted to peddle there….. courtesy of her Radio Flyer tricycle. The Blonde had neglected to notice that in recent months she had completely outgrown the pink, Radio-Flyer tricycle. Her knees were basically up to her chin while attempting to ride it in most recent days.
On top of that, in what the Mother can only assume was an engineering decision to minimize the overall weight of the vehicle, the tricycle appeared to be comprised of 92% plastic….including its tires. Thus causing a plastic on plastic friction factor…hereafter refereed to as the PPFF. The PPFF generated a squeaking sound of such horrific levels that small dogs, and those utilizing hearing devices in a 3.5 mile radius of the tricycle would need to be seen by medical professionals to assess inner ear integrity in the aftermath of an encounter.
The Mother did not think the trek could honestly be made on the small bike, and insisted that the Blonde leave the tricycle in the garage.
The Mother insisted that the Radio Flyer tricycle was better for just riding in the driveway, and that when they returned she assured the Blonde that she could ride it to her heart’s content.
The Mother insisted the Blonde remove her helmet and scowl, and accept that her awareness of the terrain ahead, and it’s inevitable impossibility, was superior to a four year old’s understanding.
As they made their way down the street, the Mother could be seen pulling the over-sized red wagon containing only the Brunette. The Uber-Blonde Baby, just as the Mother had feared, was perched on her left hip after refusing to be placed into the wagon…..and slightly behind them…. was the Blonde. Her scowl had been replaced by a look of fierce determination…..you guessed it…..as she pedaled feverishly on her Radio Flyer tricycle!
“Squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak!” The Radio Flyer literally mocked the Mother with each rotation of its wheels.
The struggle is real, people.
The Mother had already reached her allowable daily quotient of mountains she was permitted to die on in a given day, and therefore she had chosen (against her better judgement) to make a concession on the Radio Flyer tricycle. This particular technicolor tactical technique had been established as a form of emotional conservation. The Mother would only permit herself three strongholds per day in which she would not cave. This technique had been established following a rather traumatic dinner-time incident which had taken place several months prior.
The circumstances surrounding her children’s noncompliance during that particular dinner-time meal had honestly not been any more extreme than the night before. Following a particularly challenging parenting day, however; the Mother reached a snapping point….. literally causing her to flip-out.
It wasn’t until the Boy actually said, “Mom…..you’re kind of starting to scare me a little. I think you might need to think about a time out,” that the Mother realized she had allowed the emotions of the children to take her hostage….altering her behavior in ways she would have never imagined possible.
Despite the present Radio Flyer concession, the Mother was attempting to instead focus on her conversation with the Neighbor; who had bravely decided to merge with their parade-style caravan, on her way to the bus stop.
As the group turned the corner, the Mother shifted the Uber-Blonde Baby to her other hip, and readjusted her hand position on the red wagon handle. This break in rhythm proved problematic, for in that exact moment the Brunette stood straight up in the wagon.
“Honey, you have to sit down. We can’t move until you sit,” the Mother stated.
The Brunette, pulled her arms tightly across her chest, tipped her head into a 45 degree ground-glancing posture, and allowed her hair to fall over her face. The Mother knew this stance well….the three-year old was bracing herself for an emotive projection.
“No!!!! My bottom hurts!” The Brunette yelled.
“Honey, we are only half way there. Do you want to walk for a bit?” the Mother suggested.
“I do NOT want to walk!! My bottom hurts!” the Brunette uncooperatively replied.
“Honey, you have to sit down. We need to keep moving or the bus is going to beat us,” the Mother replied as she let out a sigh.
“No!!!” the Brunette defiantly responded.
“Mommy, I’m getting tired,” the Blonde chimed in as she stood next to her pink Radio Flyer tricycle.
{Of course you are….this is perfect….the Mother thought, sarcastically.}
“Girls…..you are killing me. I think I literally felt a wrinkle… just now…crevice itself on my face,” the Mother replied in evident frustration.
The compassionate Neighbor, clearly sensing the entire situation was coming off the rails, offered to pull the wagon the rest of the way. The Mother feared that fatigue, heat, and toddler stubbornness were all coming together to form the perfect storm.
The Mother might choose to deal with situations of rebellion and defiance very differently in the confines of her own home. Redirection, loss of privileges, and punishment would certainly all be part of her disciplinary formula.
In the public setting, however; the girls knew they had the upper hand, as they attempted to hold their Mother emotionally hostage. They knew their Mother would remain stoic in an attempt to maintain her last thread of control by not allowing the girls to dictate the outcome of the situation.
The Mother wants to be clear…..she does not believe that motherhood itself should be perceived as a hostage-taking situation. She would like to believe that most people are well aware that shaping another person into a quality human being does not simply happen by chance, and that most people enter the process with their eyes wide open. It is only through consistent reinforcement, and unconditional love that quality children are produced, and that can at times be easier said than done.
That being said, the Mother has come to believe that children will attempt to demonstrate their counter-will over that of their parent’s will through various forms of emotional hostage-taking. While this separation of wills is completely natural, how a parent responds to the process is widely varied.
Older children might model their attempt at hostage-taking by asking permission to do something with a friend…..in front of the friend…thus placing the parent in an awkward situation. Getting one parent to unknowingly contradict the other parent’s instruction is another tactic. This approach shifts the entire exchange into a division of parental unity rather than remaining focused on the issue in question.
Younger children, however; like to ensure they achieve their maximum power seeking potential…..by causing a public scene. The flailing, screaming, sweating, wailing child is literally telling their parent through one of the most embarrassing forms of protest, “Go ahead……I dare you.”
The struggle is real, people.
The Mother decided in this moment that the girls were clearly no longer capable of continuing their trek, and opted to return with them to the house. The Neighbor offered to take the wagon, and return it after retrieving the Boy from the bus. The Mother sighed, and then mouthed “Thank you,” to the Neighbor.
As they made their way back to the house, the Mother was again carrying the Uber-Blonde Baby on her left hip, holding the pink Radio Flyer tricycle in her right hand, as the Blonde sulked beside her, and the Brunette screamed, “You can’t make me go with you!”…..for a quarter of a mile people…..a quarter….of….a….mile.
Thankfully, the Brunette’s unfounded terror of being left behind on the sidewalk carried more weight than the power of the meltdown, and so the Brunette thankfully kept walking. In that painful moment, the Mother was quite relieved that they lived on such a minimally trafficked street.
The Mother could be heard mumbling under her breath as she made her way, “I’m walking the mile…..the green mile.” The quote, from the 1999 Tom Hanks film The Green Mile, was pretty much the only thought cycling through the Mother’s mind in that moment…..well…that….and of course, “Is it bedtime, yet?”
The Technicolor Memo: There are many magical and rewarding moments within parenthood. Moments such as the Green Mile incident are far from magical. Our children will attempt their own subtle, and sometimes not so subtle forms of emotional hostage-taking throughout the years. We would be well served to decide before those inevitable moments occur what our responses might be, and which strongholds you will ultimately hold to without wavering.
There is a natural desire for parents to want to get to the root of the emotional hostage-taking, to understand the psychology of a loss of control, and to all in all analyze the nature of their own relationship with their parents. I believe our inclination to ask these questions is motivated by our bond towards, identification with, and sympathy for our child. Certainly, under no other conditions would an individual with reasonable boundaries, allow others to continue to treat them in such a manner. It would therefore seem, that when it comes to our children, we may be experiencing a form of Stockholm Syndrome. If we remain unaware of this possibility, when it comes to our children, we could easily become more reactive than proactive.
Motherhood lived in technicolor reminds us that every moment in parenting cannot be a stronghold. You have to choose which mountains each day are worth setting up strongholds on top of. You may elect to hold yourself to a set number of moments in a given day with which to concentrate all your parental energies, such as I have chosen to do. Or you may wish to establish your own technique for maintaining a healthy balance of sanity. Either way, it is important to realize you are engaged in a long term tactical exchange. It is also critical to remember that parenting it is not an us against them interaction, but an us in spite of them determination; that will ultimately allow you to close out each day with a feeling of success.
It is also critical to remember that parenting it is not an us against them interaction, but an… Click To TweetAuthor’s Note: Let me tell you a little social media secret; Facebook doesn’t put every story I post into your news feed. The only way to never miss one of my stories is to add your email to my Motherhood in Technicolor distribution list. Its easy and how many things are really easy….just click on this link, and then enter your name and email on the page. Done. The next time I post a story to my blog page a copy of the story will be sent to your email. There’s also a 83% chance that seeing an email from me in your inbox will totally be a day brightener…..so what are you waiting for? 🙂
Summer Smith is a speaker, writer, and motherhood blogger. She and her family are currently navigating the suburbs of Northern Virginia. As the mother to four young children, Summer maintains her sanity thanks to her sense of humor, copious amounts of coffee, and Amazon Prime. Maya Angelou once said, when reflecting on her childhood, that her mother left an impression like technicolor stars in the midnight sky. Influenced by these words, Summer blogs at her website Motherhood in Technicolor, and can also be found on her Motherhood in Technicolor Facebook page.