Deep breath. I was not going to lose my cool while lecturing about calm-down strategies

Daniel had just taken a huge bite of breaded chicken. It was 9:30 p.m., and I had a captive audience.

“…and then Dr. Spencer showed us this image of Mount Vesuvius erupting, and he was like, ‘Before anything, we need to defuse the volcano. Your child is a bubbling cauldron. If you don’t teach him how to cool down, you can have zero expectations!’ ”

I waited for a reaction. Daniel just stabbed another cutlet and airlifted it onto his plate.

“Ilana, uh… is that news to you? You don’t have to have three doctorates to know that when Shira is in volatile mode, there’s no reasoning with her.”

True. So why did it feel like such a revelation? Somehow, when Dr. Spencer said things, they were so illuminating.

Sensing my deflation, Daniel tried to backtrack. “Wait, maybe I’m not understanding this right. Why should Shira want to calm down?”

“Motivation!” I replied, proud that this time I had an answer. “Every time she successfully uses a strategy to calm down, she gets closer to buying her dream toy.”

Daniel put down his fork. “Ilana, are you serious? We’ve already tried every reinforcement system out there!”

Argh! Why wasn’t he getting it? This time it was different; this time I had a detailed, practical action plan! This time I actually understood the underlying problems, the target goals. Daniel was a great public prosecutor, but at home it could be maddening.

Deep breath. I was not going to lose my cool while lecturing about calm-down strategies.

“Honey, can you drop the litigatory analytic business? I know you’re not excited about the money we’re spending on this course. But not everything is a scam! Now I have material, now I have meat. I’m not just hanging up some nebulous ‘be-good’ refrigerator chart that leads to more blow-ups about whether or not she deserves a sticker!”

I ceremoniously unrolled an oversized laminated poster featuring a progression of super-happy to super-mad faces. This, I announced, was our new feeling thermometer. In order to help Shira become more aware of her emotional level, we’d hang it up prominently, refer to it as often as possible: How are you feeling now? Show me which face!

Daniel turned a shade of green. “You mean this is going to display in our foyer?” he said slowly.

Aaah, he’s embarrassed.

I softened.

“We can take it down for Shabbos and guests,” I proposed.

He pricked and picked at the cutlets. “Nah, I’ll get over it. I guess I just spent years making fun of those hands-on parents knee-deep in sticker charts and behavioral programs who didn’t have a life… I never thought they would be… me.”

“But we do have a life!” I wanted to blurt out. Except, I realized, the last time we’d had a conversation that didn’t revolve around Shira or the kids was, like, weeks ago.

“Okay, let’s just finish discussing this so we can move on to your day,” I said, my zeal completely punctured. “Every time Shira identifies her emotional state and calms down, she gets points. When she accumulates enough points, she earns the prize of her choice. It’s that simple!”

Daniel was scavenging through the freezer for some dessert carbs. He extracted his head from deep inside and looked at me incredulously.

“How exactly is Shira going to magically calm down?”

“Lots of ways,” I answered confidently. “Deep breathing, jumping jacks, pressured movement, cold water on her face. We’ll have to find the one that works.”

I thought back to earlier in the afternoon, when I’d tried to teach Shira deep breathing. We went on our backs, put hands on bellies. “Breathe deep through your nose,” I’d said. “Make sure you see your stomach going up and down.”

Shira began snorting furiously, expelling air out of her nose in rapid bursts and forcefully levitating her stomach.

Oookay, I had consoled myself. Deep breathing was not going to effectuate the necessary transformation.

Daniel gouged a chocolate chip out of his cookie, looking contrite. “Look, Ilana, I don’t want to rain on your parade. If you think this program has potential, I’m happy to get on board. But Dr. Spencer is not G-d, and I want you to think critically about what he says. Don’t just follow blindly.”

You know he’s right, my voice of reason chided.

Maybe, my emotional department conceded. But at this point, my options are so limited — and my sanity so wafer-thin — that I’m going to hang on for dear life.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 473)