When Your Kids Tell You . . .

. . . that you need to be more firm in your discipline, you know things are way off track.

As my oldest son and I strolled hand-in-hand through the store (yes, my twelve-year-old still likes to hang with his mom), he casually mentioned that I needed to be a stricter disciplinarian.

This isn't the first time he's mentioned this. And he did follow that comment up by saying, "I'm probably going to regret telling you that." And I believe he is in fact regretting it this very moment as he sits in his room grounded, but that's a story for another post.

So I've been pondering his words and have come to a realization.

When the kids were little, I was pretty reactive and easily frustrated (though in my meager defense I had three toddlers running around and a mountain of dirty clothes creeping from the laundry room—when the mountain comes to Mohammed . . .)

So I was exhausted and short tempered and my husband worked six days a week.

And I was a perfectionistic controller. Yeah, you see the volcano brewing, don't you? Exhaustion and the need for control and order are the main ingredients for spontaneous combustion. And I combusted on a frequent basis.

Added to this, I hadn't been raised around small children, so didn't understand how to discipline and had no one to learn from. The net result is that the consequences I implemented were often too strict for the offense. Which is something I truly regret.

Fast forward through years of growing and learning and seeing myself through a more accurate (though grace-filled) lens and I find that I'm now an uncertain mother.

I throw a potential consequence out there, like say, "If you choose not to change your attitude, then you won't be going to the party," and then second guess myself. Is it too strict? Is it fair? And when my child continues on his course of disaster, rather than give the consequence I just keep reminding him of it, hoping desperately that he'll toe the line and get to go to the party.

Or I'll threaten unreasonably steep consequences that I don't really mean, assuming that'll motivate them to get themselves under control. Like that ever works. And then I undermine my own parenting when I back pedal.

So when my son told me that I threaten and threaten and threaten with no follow through, I realized he was absolutely right.

Parenting isn't about doing it perfectly, but it is in great part about being consistent.

So I'm much more thoughtful about what comes out of my mouth. I first think through whether it's a consequence I'm willing to uphold. If I am, then I am fairly certain it's reasonable.

And heaven knows that when it comes to parents and kids, someone has to be reasonable.

Listening to My Wiser Self

I had a mom moment last night. The ah ha kind when a piece of truth clicks in place empowering you in love and authority.

My older boys wanted to sleep together. It was a school night, but life hasn't been normal the last two months and phantom fears come out to plague my one son when bed time approaches.

For the first month after his grandpa passed away, my son was convinced he was dying and bed time became an agonizing time of self-diagnosis that ranged from appendicitis to cancer.

So, yes, I let him sleep with his brother after admonishing the boys that they had five minutes to settle down or they'd have to sleep in their own beds.

One hour later, I made my pre-bedtime rounds. The boys' door was closed (to keep the dog in) and the light was on and they were visiting away.

I told the oldest he'd need to return to his room. Shock and indignation filled the air between the boys and I as the trial got underway. Councilor number one explained that they thought the five minutes I'd given them was to settle down and talk quietly. Councilor number two told me that they'd turn out the light and go straight to sleep.

I stared into the blue eyes and then the brown, looking closely for a hint of manipulation. Sincerity shone.

I felt myself begin to waver. They sensed the weakness and went for the kill like wolves after their prey, begging for another chance with loud promises of going straight to sleep.

I opened my mouth to give in, but had a moment of self-awareness. I tend to be weak when it comes to allowing my kids to feel the pain of their choices.

I knew what my original intent was, so I needed to discipline according to my intent. Not according to their interpretation.

If I receive a traffic ticket, the judge isn't going to say, "Oooooh, you thought a yellow light meant speed up, Mrs. Sand. Well, of course we'll wave that fine."

It's my job to lead my kids and teach them to follow, rather than try to keep up and contort myself into the image that meets their desires.

And not try to wiggle my way out of traffic fines . . .

Acceptance

My women's group is reading a great book called Easy to Love, Difficult to Discipline by Becky Bailey, Ph.D. In it she describes a principle called, The Power of Acceptance—this moment is what it is.

That seems like a simple enough concept. I mean, you could translate it to say, "Live in reality, babe."

But, it also means letting go of the shoulds. And for a recovering perfectionist, that eliminates about half of my vocabulary on any given day.

I should have gotten up earlier. I should have ordered the salad instead of the pasta drenched in Alfredo sauce. I should have remembered to pick up the kids from my mother's…

Is it possible to truly live in the moment that is? Can I? I'd like the freedom of not wishing away what is or longing for what I think should be. I'd have a lot more mental energy.

Dr. Bailey explains (rough paraphrase) that when we accept how things are, peace follows, and we then have the ability to decide how we want life to flow from that point on.

The peace part is what I really like. Okay, so I didn't get my "to do" list completed, the kids didn't take out the trash, and the kitchen's a mess. . .

Deep breath . . . or two.

That is the reality of my moment. What do I want to do in my next moment?

I can clean or I can choose a bubble bath.

My old self would have worked long past bedtime to get things in order so the "should" sisters wouldn't follow me to bed with their incessant harping.

The new me, the one living in this now moment? I'll choose the bubble bath.