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Jun. 25th, 2008 10:56 amVia AckB, a little something to lift your spirits this morning.
Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.
Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.
Jun. 25th, 2008
Mother of the year.
Jun. 25th, 2008 02:02 pmNever in her whole life have I ever been this close to spanking my kid.
We went to the playground for a picnic and running around with friends. While I was packing up afterward to go home, Alex started running down the long long path to where we parked.
"Alex, wait for me," I called. She laughed and kept running. She kept laughing and running when I stopped what I was doing, stood up, and bellowed "No, stop now" at the top of my lungs, in my this-is-a-major-issue voice. She kept running when I came after her, still shouting for her to stop. She finally stopped about 100 yards away from where we'd started.
Not. Okay.
All I could think of as I came after her was spanking her. Instead I told her how angry I was, grabbed her firmly by the arm, and marched her back to where our things were. I ordered her to sit on the ground and not move while I packed up the rest of our picnic things and I tried to calm down a little. Then I got down at her level and told her, firmly and angrily, that the biggest safety rule our family has is that she STOP and COME BACK when she is told. She knows this rule. Breaking the rule is dangerous. I told her that I was very, very angry.
I held her firmly by the hand all the way down the long path to the car. She's not used to that. She tried saying that she didn't want me to hold her hand, and I told her that she had to have her hand held because I couldn't trust her to listen to my directions. We usually go at a meandering, flower-picking pace. Not this time.
I told her that we aren't going to go anywhere else today, and she's not going to play outside at all. She asked me if I was going to water the plants without her, and I told her that I was.
I am still so, so angry. And a part of me is still thinking that she'd take the whole thing a lot more seriously if I had hit her.
Other non-spanking parents, I could use a pep talk right now.
We went to the playground for a picnic and running around with friends. While I was packing up afterward to go home, Alex started running down the long long path to where we parked.
"Alex, wait for me," I called. She laughed and kept running. She kept laughing and running when I stopped what I was doing, stood up, and bellowed "No, stop now" at the top of my lungs, in my this-is-a-major-issue voice. She kept running when I came after her, still shouting for her to stop. She finally stopped about 100 yards away from where we'd started.
Not. Okay.
All I could think of as I came after her was spanking her. Instead I told her how angry I was, grabbed her firmly by the arm, and marched her back to where our things were. I ordered her to sit on the ground and not move while I packed up the rest of our picnic things and I tried to calm down a little. Then I got down at her level and told her, firmly and angrily, that the biggest safety rule our family has is that she STOP and COME BACK when she is told. She knows this rule. Breaking the rule is dangerous. I told her that I was very, very angry.
I held her firmly by the hand all the way down the long path to the car. She's not used to that. She tried saying that she didn't want me to hold her hand, and I told her that she had to have her hand held because I couldn't trust her to listen to my directions. We usually go at a meandering, flower-picking pace. Not this time.
I told her that we aren't going to go anywhere else today, and she's not going to play outside at all. She asked me if I was going to water the plants without her, and I told her that I was.
I am still so, so angry. And a part of me is still thinking that she'd take the whole thing a lot more seriously if I had hit her.
Other non-spanking parents, I could use a pep talk right now.
Now *that* was interesting...
Jun. 25th, 2008 08:19 pmPartway through dinner, Alex announced that she was done. I briefly tried to suggest that her tummy might not be full and she might get hungry later. She assured me that, no, she was full. So, as is our custom, I let her get down from the table to go play.
She made it out of the dining room, through the foyer, and about two steps into the living room before she burst into tears.
And came back. And leaned against my side, sobbing, "DON'T LET ME GO!"
"Don't let you go?" I put my arm around her and rubbed her back. "Do you want me to tell you that you have to stay at the table?"
She sniffed. "Yeah."
"Okay. Alex, I want you to stay at the table with Mama and Papa, even though you're done eating. Climb back into your seat."
She scrambled happily back into the booster seat. And I figured that it was probably time for the "No matter how angry I get..." conversation. (She responded happily, "And I love you even when I'm angry!", so apparently that was a useful framework for her, too.) Because all I could think of was that that strange exchange must have been about needing us to prove that we're going to hold onto her no matter what she does.
She definitely chafed at being restricted to the house for the rest of the day. Not at first, but when Michael came home and I went out to water and fertilize the garden without her. And then after dinner, when I decided that just because she didn't get to go to the library shouldn't mean that I missed my trip to the library. She wanted to go, I explained in a gentle but firm and matter-of-fact voice why she couldn't, and she clearly remembered, and made the connection, and was sobered by it.
She told Michael that because she had run away from me, "I can't go outside for the rest of my life." (He corrected her.) And also: "I'm not going to run away from Mama anymore. I'm only going to run with her."
So ultimately I think it all ended well. My discipline was more effective than I feared it would be, and we had a chance to re-connect emotionally and talk about our love for each other. And I brought her home some special treats from the library.
She made it out of the dining room, through the foyer, and about two steps into the living room before she burst into tears.
And came back. And leaned against my side, sobbing, "DON'T LET ME GO!"
"Don't let you go?" I put my arm around her and rubbed her back. "Do you want me to tell you that you have to stay at the table?"
She sniffed. "Yeah."
"Okay. Alex, I want you to stay at the table with Mama and Papa, even though you're done eating. Climb back into your seat."
She scrambled happily back into the booster seat. And I figured that it was probably time for the "No matter how angry I get..." conversation. (She responded happily, "And I love you even when I'm angry!", so apparently that was a useful framework for her, too.) Because all I could think of was that that strange exchange must have been about needing us to prove that we're going to hold onto her no matter what she does.
She definitely chafed at being restricted to the house for the rest of the day. Not at first, but when Michael came home and I went out to water and fertilize the garden without her. And then after dinner, when I decided that just because she didn't get to go to the library shouldn't mean that I missed my trip to the library. She wanted to go, I explained in a gentle but firm and matter-of-fact voice why she couldn't, and she clearly remembered, and made the connection, and was sobered by it.
She told Michael that because she had run away from me, "I can't go outside for the rest of my life." (He corrected her.) And also: "I'm not going to run away from Mama anymore. I'm only going to run with her."
So ultimately I think it all ended well. My discipline was more effective than I feared it would be, and we had a chance to re-connect emotionally and talk about our love for each other. And I brought her home some special treats from the library.