I spanked Mallory this morning.
Chris and I kind of vowed, in a non-binding kind of way, not to spank our kids. We don't care what other people do, we just figured we'd try other methods of discipline first. This morning I tried all the other methods and none of them worked, and she's been awful, simply awful, every morning this week, and I'd had it, and in a moment of I-don't-know-what-else-to-do, I spanked her.
And honestly, it was kind of a relief. Not because it worked -- because it didn't, it just made the whole situation worse. "You hurt me!" she howled, and then she started hitting me, and then she told me how mean and awful I was, and then she cried for her daddy, and none of this drama helped us get to school on time. No, I was relived because it didn't work. Because now I know it doesn't work, and I can stop wondering, in the midst of every upcoming power struggle we have, whether I should just haul off and spank her. Now I know it's not effective, and I'm satisfied with that.
I apologized, a few minutes later. I told her that I was angry, and that I shouldn't have hit her, and that hitting was wrong no matter who does it, and that later we'd sit down and work out a better way of handling our mornings so they don't all end up in a screaming match. And we hugged for a minute and then she ate her waffle and I think she's fine. I also think it's quite probable that she'll bring up the incident many times in the coming decades because that's the kind of child she is.
Because she also remembers this:
A few months ago we were out in the backyard. I was over by the fence with Mallory, searching for caterpillars, when I heard Phoebe cry out. I turned and saw her dangling backward from the treehouse ladder. I sprinted across the lawn -- moving faster than I had for years -- and caught her before she fell on her head. Trauma averted, Phoebe was fine, and I hadn't even thought Mallory noticed what was going on. A few weeks later, though, she said apropos of nothing, "If I were falling out of the treehouse and I called for you, would you run run run to save me?"
And of course I said yes.
And I say to Mallory (and Phoebe) now:
I will nag at you to eat your vegetables. I will make you brush your teeth and pick up your toys. I will deny you a third piece of Valentine's candy and I will force you to buckle up in the car. I will not let you watch TV all day long and I will not let you finger paint after your bath. I will snap at you when you try my patience and I will yell at you when you frustrate me and I will yank you, not gently, by the arm if you try to run off in the parking lot.
But I will always run run run to catch you if you fall. And I hope that makes up for all the rest.
Chris and I kind of vowed, in a non-binding kind of way, not to spank our kids. We don't care what other people do, we just figured we'd try other methods of discipline first. This morning I tried all the other methods and none of them worked, and she's been awful, simply awful, every morning this week, and I'd had it, and in a moment of I-don't-know-what-else-to-do, I spanked her.
And honestly, it was kind of a relief. Not because it worked -- because it didn't, it just made the whole situation worse. "You hurt me!" she howled, and then she started hitting me, and then she told me how mean and awful I was, and then she cried for her daddy, and none of this drama helped us get to school on time. No, I was relived because it didn't work. Because now I know it doesn't work, and I can stop wondering, in the midst of every upcoming power struggle we have, whether I should just haul off and spank her. Now I know it's not effective, and I'm satisfied with that.
I apologized, a few minutes later. I told her that I was angry, and that I shouldn't have hit her, and that hitting was wrong no matter who does it, and that later we'd sit down and work out a better way of handling our mornings so they don't all end up in a screaming match. And we hugged for a minute and then she ate her waffle and I think she's fine. I also think it's quite probable that she'll bring up the incident many times in the coming decades because that's the kind of child she is.
Because she also remembers this:
A few months ago we were out in the backyard. I was over by the fence with Mallory, searching for caterpillars, when I heard Phoebe cry out. I turned and saw her dangling backward from the treehouse ladder. I sprinted across the lawn -- moving faster than I had for years -- and caught her before she fell on her head. Trauma averted, Phoebe was fine, and I hadn't even thought Mallory noticed what was going on. A few weeks later, though, she said apropos of nothing, "If I were falling out of the treehouse and I called for you, would you run run run to save me?"
And of course I said yes.
And I say to Mallory (and Phoebe) now:
I will nag at you to eat your vegetables. I will make you brush your teeth and pick up your toys. I will deny you a third piece of Valentine's candy and I will force you to buckle up in the car. I will not let you watch TV all day long and I will not let you finger paint after your bath. I will snap at you when you try my patience and I will yell at you when you frustrate me and I will yank you, not gently, by the arm if you try to run off in the parking lot.
But I will always run run run to catch you if you fall. And I hope that makes up for all the rest.
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