Opening my email yesterday I noticed a story on Yahoo about the detriment of spanking children.
My first response.......
I read the article wondering if someone would give me permission to hit a 20 year old?
But alas it was for the three year old fidgets of the world. As a mother of two I remember
the fidget years and the discussion with their Dad and my husband that we would never hit our kids.
We made that decision when they were cute little lima beans wrapped in swaddling clothes.
The first year was nuts. They couldn't talk and tell you what they wanted or walk to the fridge and get the milk. Butch came home on several evening to his child crying, his wife crying and the dog hiding under the bed. We would load them in the car every night, the dog hanging his head out the window and us with our coffee cups finally able to hold a conversation and drive. We burned out two cars.
Arriving home and attempting to extract them from the jaws of life car seat, one little eye would pop open and we'd be on the road again, the dog couldn't be happier.
One late night I coasted through a stop sign and was promptly stopped by the local donut eater. Where ya going, ma'am? and why are you in your jammies? I handed over my drivers license and pointed to the back seat where the little nugget was just waking.... then wailing. Then the new Mom hormone kicked in and my jammies were soaked from the neck down...... Oh I forgot to tell you I'm also a milk factory. I am not Mom I am Moo-m He hand back the license and said, sorry. I thought is that all I need to do to get out of ticket? Every night on my rounds I waved to the donut eater and he waved through the stop sign........
They eventually start walking and talking. They do stuff that will drive you to the brink of insanity but God willing there is a bathroom with a door in your house. After 4 hours of one kid following me around the house blowing on her sisters recorder I thought I would die. Telling her Mommy just had to use the potty I locked myself in. Ahhhhh peace...... I looked down and sliding under the door, the end of the recorder and she blew harder. I snapped. Opening the door I looked at that cherubic face, asked for the recorder, which she handed me and threw it out the back door as far as I could, the dog knocker her down and brought it back. She looked up with tears in her eyes and said Mommy, how come?
I suck, the dog rules and we made cookies and ate them in the bath tub laughing.
It seemed to be filled with decisions like; should I let her color on the wall
because I can see her or put her in time out on the step, where I can't see her. The house became incredibly quiet because she was taping the dogs eyes shut.
I clearly remember saying........ Just sit there and think about
what you did...... and she would say; Rachael did it, I swear! Rachael, was 6 years old and was
spelling her name pretty well by the time she was 9 years old. I saved the dogs eye sight and let her color on the wall.
I guess what I am trying to say is....... you must be more creative than the 3 year old, or the 20 year old.
Thinking over the parent trials and tribulations it was clear if you hit anybody and then told them
you loved them, it was a scrambled message.
I clearly remember jumping around my Mom's kitchen, singing 100 bottles of beer on the wall and jumping into the dogs water dish. Mom, stirring something hot and bubbly on the stove, never blinked; whipped the wooden spoon out of the pot and whacked me faster then a woodpecker on ant nest. I never knew what hit me. Then I heard....... and here's one more for being stupid followed by a cackle. The wounded animal sound coming from the kitchen was intense. She then said; I've had a long day at work and I am really tired, go outside and yodel. Which I did, but leaning out her window, german neighbor lady Ethel told me to shut up or she would give me something to yodel about.
Another incident with my Dad. Sitting at the dinner table it was announced, while fooling around my brother and I broke a lamp. I was pretty sure we were going to die and this was our last supper. Sure enough after dinner we were ordered to stand still and he would get the .......... BELT.
I think I was 12.
When he turned to whack my brother I bolted for the door. He chased me down declaring he loved me
and this would teach me something. Well duh...... it taught me to run faster! By 12 years old I was starting to think a helmet and pads might be a good idea.
Dad hit me because he loved me, Mom hit me because she was frustrated and was out of gas at the end of the day. Neighbor Ethel had permission to hit me any time she thought we needed it. I clearly remember sitting in my 2nd grade parent teacher conference and my Dad saying; If she gets out of line just whack her. Daaaaaad....... it's public school and Ms Neese is really nice. After comparing notes with my friends at St. Francis DeSales I thanked God I did not have a nun with hidden pockets for rulers.
Today we should all be a little smarter, I hope. It just seems common sense, not to hit a little kid or a big kid. I can't even believe we need a study on this. It's my job as a parent to guide, nudge and be the best darn cheerleader that little/big person will ever have. Domination doesn't seem to come under good parenting skills.
If you have kids that are making their way in the world and the light bulb goes off from time you have done well and it will get better, much better. Yup, they are gonna do stuff that is going to make you question if you birthed this little nugget but blow the dust off those pom pom's and get ready to cheer for the little stuff and the big stuff. And now I am still MOM which upside down is WOW........ wouldn't change it for the world.......