On Discipline
Some moms are good at scrapbooking. I keep lists of sayings. This includes the occasional unbelievably funny line that springs from my kids' lips, as well as the just plain unbelievable ones that, more often, come out of mine.
Previous entries to the annals of Things I Can't Believe I Just Said: Don't Run With a Pickle in Your Mouth. Stop Licking Your Sister. Dogs Don't Like Their Ears Tied in a Knot We Drink Milk, We Don't Gargle With It. We Drink Milk, We Don't Lap It With Our Tongue. We Drink Milk, We Don't Hide Peas in It. We Don't Hit Babies on the Head With a Hammer. (For the record, it was plastic.) I don't remember my mother ever saying things like, "No Running With a Fork in Your Pants." Then again, I don't remember my mother repeating herself 20 times per minute per child, either. I must not have been listening. Which brings me to the subject of discipline. Nowhere in the parenting canon are there more prescriptions for how to handle your children, except maybe when it comes to getting them to sleep. But sleep is mostly an issue of infancy, whereas discipline just goes on and on and on. It's one thing to read, in the calm rationality of the printed page, about star charts and a 10-point program Behavioral Makeover Pledge and Plan. It's another thing altogether to try to find the suggested script on page 147 for dealing with an erupting Mount Toddlersuvious when the hot lava is exploding right in front of you. What these helpful guides fail to mention is that in the heat of the moment, if you can remain more or less humane, winging it is usually sufficient. |
 
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