On Discipline

Yesterday morning, the bickering was escalating into violence. I had already spoken to each of my two oldest a couple of times about pushing, poking, or hitting. We were in that dangerous holding pattern: only 10 more minutes and we could wake the baby up and head to the park. The van was loaded with their precious bikes and helmets, blue for him and Purple Dora for her. The cooler was packed with most of our lunch, minus the sandwiches Daniele was supplying for us because I realized too late to do anything about it that we were completely out of bread. Their shoes were on, last bathroom trips had been made, and now all that was left to do for me was to finish cleaning up the kitchen...for them to find something to do that did not involve perpetrating violence against a sibling. Another attack occurred. I had to go in again to address a complaint...and I said it. I said, "If you all hit, poke, or grab each other one more time, we will not go to the park today."

As if 4 1/2 years of parenting had not taught me not to make dumb threats that I really, really do not want to carry out.

Because of course, I wanted to go to the park as much as they did. My friends were going to be there, too, after all. And what in the world would I do with two grumpy kids all morning long?

So I went back to my kitchen clean-up, praying that they would somehow manage to cease and desist. Knew that they probably wouldn't. Wondered if there was a way to get out of my threat without losing all the respect of my children. Imagined them becoming rebellious, graffiti-spraying adolescents because their mother didn't discipline them well. Tried to remember which parenting expert says you have to follow through with your threats? And did that guy actually have kids, anyway?

I finished loading the dishwasher and turned it on. Have I mentioned that, 3 years into living at our house, we still love our dishwasher. It's the first one we've had since we've been married (10 years next week!) and it's still a joy to load and even unload it. It's not a good dishwasher. It's loud, and it doesn't actually get the dishes clean, but it's a dishwasher, and we love it. Anyway, the thing is humming loudly along, I'm wiping the counters, and I look up to see two round, cherubic faces, studying me. They stare at me. I wipe, they stare. Slowly, it dawns on me. They're looking at me to see if I saw. They're wondering if I heard. But I didn't hear a thing. Love that dishwasher.