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No More Mrs. Nice Mommy

I've had a hell of a couple weeks. From a two year old SUV just giving out, the humbling experience of catching the bus, all hell breaking loose at work... You name it and it seems to be happening in the last couple weeks.

Well cut to last Friday. We bought a nice Volkswagen, I was back at work knee deep in the paralegal trenches, all seemed to be returning to my surreal version of normal. And then BOOM. Phone call to my office line from Mino's school. He'd escalated from threatening to slap a classmate (go back a few posts) to reaching out and punching one. 

Why, you ask? Because his classmate got on purple (for excellent behavior) before him. On top of that, to my utter horror and slight relief, it was ABD contributor Jasmine's son who he hit. CRAP. So I got in my new car and headed over to make my apologies to the front office. 

I took the little slugger to grandpa, because mommy is in trial-prep, and trial prep is similar to college hell week. You just don't get to leave. PERIOD.

I made it through the rest of my day at work. Free at last, I was on the phone with Jasmine telling her about the first slugger when I got a call from Nelly's preschool. Slugger number two had thrown a sand toy at his teacher. COME ON! 

I sat and tried to listen to the preschool teacher talk about how they'd been working on gentle touches and ask if I could try to reinforce this at home... I could think of a couple things I'd like to reinforce at this point, alright. 

Before I went in to snatch up slugger number two I stopped.




Now my husband and I don't go around punching each other in the head or throwing objects. In fact, we rarely even curse or yell in front of them. I mean mommy has to REALLY come unglued for that kind of out of character behavior. We don't watch wrestling, or boxing, or Jersey Shore in front of them. We don't even allow pretend gun play or excessive rough housing. So where in the world was this coming from. At that age, I would have never!

And that's when it hit me. I would have never!

What I'm about to say won't be "politically correct." 

But it was time to spank some ass. 

I have done the talking, the warning, the threatening... Taking things away even! Clearly this wasn't working. I've tried hard to "use my words," to no avail. So I snatched up Nelly, and took him home with every intention to give these two small people what-for. 

But this isn't a post about how victorious I am for spanking my boys. This whole debacle got me to thinking: Why are we afraid to discipline (I mean REALLY discipline) our children?  

I saw a woman in the store with her son Andrew (pause) - Why do I know Andrew by name? Because Andrew was getting called every 5 seconds, that's why! And I'm guilty of it too, saying Mino and Nelly until I thought of putting it on a tape! But do you know what Andrew did? He spit, (yeah, you read that right) SPIT at his mother. And what did she do? Well, as I was clutching my pearls waiting for Andrew to get pummeled, his mother said "if you do that again, you're going on time out when you get home." 

WHAT?! I was in such dismay I had to tap my sister and have her come watch, as if I'd spotted a rare owl or a wild cat - "Here we have the floor mat mom; observe as her son walks all over her." like something out of animal planet!

And Andrew wasn't Mino and Nelly's age, a young malleable five and three. He was a good seven or eight years old.  Old enough to keep his bodily fluids to himself, and surely too old to care about a "time out." 

Point is I flat out REFUSE to be Andrew's mom in two years. And if I don't take the time to teach my children, I will be. In 1997 when I was Andrew's age, they would have needed a stretcher for me after what my mother would have done if I ever dared to even contemplate spitting at, on or near her. So why is it now that children seem to have little to no fear of their parents? 

Because we're all afraid the boys in blue will come get us if we actually spank our children. Well, after the things that "talking" has gotten me recently with my boys, there is no more Mrs. Nice Mommy. I'd rather the boys in blue come get me than to keep "talking" and one day they come and get one of my sons. PERIOD. 


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You Can Call Me Orion.

Dear Mino