Evolution of a Disciplinarian
Posted by Danielle Bean in Family on Thursday, May 28, 2009 1:00 PM
Dan and I used to be the only disciplinarians in our family. With older kids in the house now, though, often there are a number of us shepherding the littlest ones.
Much of the time, I find this useful. I’ll take all the help I can get. After all, it has recently come to my attention that I have become an old softy.
After baths the other evening, I was scrambling to get the wood floors swept. It disturbs me when clean kids come out of the tub and immediately get grubby feet by walking on sandy, end-of-the-day floors. Of course I should sweep first then bathe the kids, but life does not always go as it should, does it?
I was almost done sweeping the living room and had amassed a sizable pile of grit and sand when a freshly-bathed Daniel peeked at me from around the corner.
I knew what he was plotting.
“Don’t even think about it, Mister,” I told him sternly. “You will not touch this pile.”
With twinkling eyes, he stepped closer.
“No, Danny,” I warned. “You have nice clean feet. Don’t touch the dirt.
He grinned. He squealed ... He ran straight through the pile of dirt, kicked it in all directions, and raced from the room laughing.
I was speechless at his audacity, but my 14-year-old daughter wasn’t.
“You can not let him get away with that,” she told me.
Okay. I swallowed my amusement at the brassy boy, grabbed him sternly by the shoulders, told him “No!” and placed him in the corner.
Where he sobbed. Pitiful, gut-wrenching sobs.
He defied me, I told myself. He needs to be there a good long while.
But it’s a consequence of being an older broken-in mom, I think, that I seem to have turned into a big mushy softy. Try as I might, I just can’t get mad like I used to.
I can remember getting so frustrated with my oldest children’s misbehavior as toddlers that I could feel my blood pressure rise until it pounded in my ears.
I don’t get like that anymore. I suppose I’ve seen enough of life and the world to know that these preschool days are too short (and too funny) to spend them frustrated and angry.
After a few minutes of the sorrowful sobbing, I called Daniel to me and we talked about his misbehavior. He sobbed. He said sorry. We hugged. And then he was free to go.
And go he did—straight into the arms of his older sister Juliette where he was sure to find some sympathy.
“Mama was mean,” he sniffled.
“Really?” Juliette asked. “Was Mama mean or was Daniel naughty?”
Surprised, Daniel looked up at his big sister. He paused long enough for me to congratulate myself on a disciplinary success which was about to be reinforced by an older sibling.
But no.
“Mama was mean,” Daniel confirmed before collapsing in a heap of wailing on her lap.
Apparently, there’s more work to be done here. For all of us.
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