Tonight I experienced one of the lesser joyful parts of motherhood: discipline. I always swore that I would never discipline my children the way I was disciplined, but I suppose children always say that, as none of us are exactly big fans of having to be corrected or punished. But as I have had to experience this painful part of parenting on more than one occasion, I have begun to take notice of my parenting style, only to discover that I have, in fact, become my own mother - a thought that both frightens and intrigues me.
I feel that in my 13+ years of motherhood, I have learned a trick or two. I have gained wisdom not only through the experience of those who went before me, but also through observation of my own parenting technique - or lack thereof - and through the kind of gentle prodding of my Heavenly Father. I can only hope that these sources have led me to be a better mother than had I attempted to parent solely by my own instinct.
Tonight, my only daughter, also my youngest child, tested me, as she often does. Her personality is nothing like me or my husband, though her stubborn nature comes honestly from both sides. She is flighty, unique, and creative. She has an imagination as big as creation, and is deeply sensitive and dramatic. Organization is most definitely not her forte, and she is often driven by flights of fancy rather than reality. She's not delusional, just delightfully optimistic and fantastic. While all of these qualities make her special, unique, and wonderfully different, they can often drive me to the brink of insanity. I can't relate to her. I don't understand her. I feel disrespected and defied, when I often think that she means me no harm, but simply doesn't exactly live in the same dimension as I do. Her priorities are not the same as mine, and she places no value on things like time, place, or practicality. She looks at me with the innocent confusion of a deaf person being spoken to by a mumbler, simply unable to understand why I would be angry at her for something as simple as not putting her clothes away. My anger seems to be such a surprise to her, not because she honestly didn't think disobedience wouldn't annoy me, but because she doesn't consider her laundry to be important the way I do. It is given very little value, and is often instantly dismissed because there are art projects to complete, and fairy tales to write - things which rank so much higher in her kingdom than in mine. And I get so frustrated, so angry, so furious...
After repeated attempts to get this precious gift from God to put her clothes away, I began to implement a spanking system. For those who are not fans of corporal punishment, I should warn you to please look away. Every time she didn't do as she was told, I gave her a spanking. And she would earn one additional spanking every time she repeated the violation. My hope was that after 5 or 6 spankings she would just give up and behave. But the child earned 17 spankings in one evening, all for not putting her clothes away as directed. You can see my frustration. No parent enjoys spanking their child. But we do it because we need to correct a specific undesirable behavior. After giving the 17th spanking, I decided that this method was simply not working. I had to do something big, something drastic, to get her attention and nip this clothing issue in the bud. I decided to take away Buddy, her beloved pet crawfish (yes, a pet crawfish - but that is a whole different story). I grabbed up the fish bowl and told her that Buddy was going to live in our neighborhood pond. That child fell to pieces. She told me she would take 20 spankings right then and there if I would let her keep Buddy. My heart broke. Was I prepared to crush the child's heart over folded laundry? Was I prepared to handle the consequences of not following through on a threat? I honestly didn't know what to do. An honest-to-goodness Momma Dilemma of the worst kind: how to discipline your child without scarring them for life.
The child is a mess. At any given time she has no idea where her shoes are, she can't locate a hairbrush to save her life, and she may or may not have done her homework. But that complete and total walking disaster is the heart of my heart, the soul of my soul, and the reason I even get to earn my stripes as a Momma. She might be a mess, but she's my mess. And I'd give anything for her. Anything. If she's willing to take 20 spankings to save a crawfish's life, how much more am I willing to sacrifice for hers?
I decided I needed to walk away and think about it. I sent her to bed, and began a walk of shame down the stairs. I felt so bad for having put the child through so much over those stupid piles of laundry. I yelled at her, saying "it wasn't worth 17 spankings for those clothes, was it?" But I found myself asking, "it wasn't worth breaking her heart over those clothes, was it?" Ugh. Maybe it was, but maybe it wasn't. I didn't think I was really teaching her a lesson about putting clothes away so much as I was teaching her that violating mom's rules results in harsh punishment, and keeps you from the things you love.
What if that's what life was really like? You screw up, you get shunned. It's not. I know that when I make mistakes there are real, sometimes painful, consequences - and I definitely don't want my kids to think the world is a place where mistakes are without consequence. But when I mess up, God gives grace. God doesn't take everything I love away from me because I sin. Grace. That's what it's all about.
Perhaps it's ironic that the child that gives me such fits was also given the middle name of "Grace" before I ever even knew how much I would need to be reminded of the need for it.
