Recently in Discipline Category

Today I put on my black, baby-doll maternity shirt. You know the type, that cute little baby-doll top that says, "Yes! I'm pregnant! This belly is not just the unhappy side effect of too many chimichangas! I'm going to have a baby!"

I wore the shirt to my kids' swimming class. The swimming class is in a big, echoey room with an indoor pool. This small detail will become important as my story continues.

Class went fine. Hailey and Dylan had a good time, swam well and were pretty well behaved. The problems started as we were in the dressing room, while I was trying to get the kids into their cooler-weather clothes (we're in the second officially-chilly day of autumn now). Have you ever tried to put jeans on a wet kid? It's really not easy.

Hailey was dancing around acting generally obnoxious. I told her to keep still and let me dress her, and she responded with a resounding "Shut up Mom!"

The swimming teacher keeps a jar full of gummy bears in her office, mainly to use as withholding threats ("You behave or you won't get a gummy bear!") The kids are usually pretty good so they expect and look forward to their gummy bear.

Well, Hailey had just shouted "Shut up Mom!" into the big, echoey room with the indoor pool and I wasn't about to show everyone how much abuse I put up with by rewarding her with a gummy bear. So I said, "You just lost your gummy bear."

Hailey burst into tears. "I want my gummy bear! I want my gummy bear! I want my gummy bear!" she shrieked. She continued to scream this mantra as if her little life depended on it, and no amount of "Hush, Hailey! That's enough! Please stop screaming!" could convince her to settle down. Each consecutive shriek was louder than the last one, and each one bounced with greater splendor off the walls of the big, echoey room with the indoor pool.

Meanwhile I was still trying to get jeans on a wet kid. Dylan was trying to get shoes on his wet feet and despite my having purchased them more than a size too large for him they weren't cooperating. Hailey was screaming. Natalie was thinking it might be fun to try out some shrieking of her own, since the echo sounded so cool.

Finally, we emerged from the dressing room. Every single parent at the pool was staring at us. Hailey was still screaming. And then Dylan wanted to know where his gummy bear was.

I crouched down and try to explain to him that if I gave him a gummy bear, Hailey would scream twice as loud and could he please wait until we get home. If he could just be a good boy until we got home, I promised him, I'd find him a special treat he could have instead of a gummy bear.

The look on his face said he was about to start screaming too.

As I was in the middle of trying to diffuse this new development, the teacher shouted from the pool, "Can you please get them out of here?"

"Yeah, we're going," I muttered. All the parents were still looking at us. I didn't need to be a telepath to know what they were thinking as they stared at my "look at me, I'm pregnant!" baby doll maternity top:

"Jeez, if she can't handle the three she's got what business does she have having a fourth one?"

Oh, if only I could melt into the walls.

Yesterday morning, my four year old son Dylan refused to get out of the van. He told me he didn't want to go to school.

School is good for Dylan, but it's also good for me. I need him to go to school, for my own sanity. Plus I pay for it, so there was no way I was letting him off the hook.

Now if I'd been a mother-of-one, I would have sat down in the back seat next to him, and calmly explained to him why he needs to go to school. I would have asked thoughtful questions to get to the root of his reluctance, and after a reasonable, two-way discussion I would have convinced him that he did indeed want to go to school. The conversation would have ended with a hug and a kiss, he'd have gotten out of the car and that would be that.

But I'm not a mother-of-one. I had a 25-pound toddler balanced on one hip, my 21-weeks pregnant body was screaming that my back can't take the weight any longer, and my three year old daughter was threatening to run wildly out into the busy street rather than wait for Dylan to make up his mind. So instead of having a quiet, understanding conversation with my son (one that would have made Nanny 911 proud), I started off by begging him to get out of the car, proceeded to threats ("your whole collection of Lego men is going in the trash!") and finished off by dragging him out unceremoniously and herding him up the stairs like a steer.

Oh what the other moms must have thought.

Patience is impossible when you have three kids preschool aged and younger. It's times like these when I really start to question our decision to have a large, closely-spaced family.

If Dylan had a few extra years between himself and his siblings, his home environment would be so much more relaxed, he'd get yelled at a lot less and the stress in his life would be much reduced. Instead of being told to do things "now" without any clearly outlined reasons, he'd understand what was expected of him and why. He'd have some consistency.

What he wouldn't have is two little sisters who adore him, and who can play with him pretty much on his level. He wouldn't have that close sibling relationship that doesn't really happen with kids who are spaced much further apart, at least not on the same level.

I don't know which scenario is better. Sometimes I do long for the days when it was just me and Dylan. I wouldn't trade what I have now for what I had then, but I still miss it.

I guess I never really got a chance to try out my dream of discipline perfection. You know, the one where you tackle every problem with serene, clear thought. You are reasonable, you are calm, you explain to your child why he is in trouble, you dispense loving justice, and your child emerges from the experience with a greater sense of morality and a new-found desire to be well-mannered and agreeable.

You had that dream, right? For me it vanished when Dylan was 15 months old, the day Hailey was born.

This is my discipline style now: "Dylan! Stop doing that now, or I will take your Spiderman away for the rest of the day!"

Parenting by threat. In our house, it's the only thing that works. With three kids ages four and under, I am the first to admit that I don't have the patience to sit down and reason with my children and get them to have a clear understanding of why they are in trouble, what they did wrong and how to avoid doing it in the future. I don't have the time to "redirect" bad behavior. And I guess a lot of people might think my kids are ill-behaved.

I know my discipline style isn't as effective as some of the zen parenting techniques out there. Believe me, I've watched Nanny 911. Unfortunately, when you have three kids and two arms you just can't achieve Utopian discipline practices.

Yeah, if you hear a kid screaming in Target it's probably mine. And I admit I don't always go straight outside with them either. And do what, leave all my shopping behind so I can drive back another day and do it all over again?

My kids are a little wild. But I also know they feel secure, they are loved and they are well-adjusted. Right now that has to be enough. And if I annoy that old lady in the supermarket, who cares. She can go home afterwards to a quiet house.

Meanwhile, it's kind of fun to follow her around the store with a cartload of screaming kids. :-)