Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Discipline’ Category

It’s just not Halloween without this post!
oldwomaninshoeI used to think moms with just sons were pretty scary, until I became one of those moms.
When you’re a mom with 5 sons, no matter how big, those boys gotta think you can still take them down-no matter who’s around.

You gotta be able to call their bluff.

One day, one of my sons walked through the kitchen on his way to his room buck naked after showering in my shower.  At the same time, the oldest one strolled into the kitchen in his boxers.  I’d had it. I was tired of all this male non-challent nakedness. There was a girl in the house after-all, even if she was just “Mom.”

I started un-buttoning my pants.  I said, “Well, if you can do it, I can, too.”  They high-tailed it out of the kitchen. I didn’t see a naked butt for about 6 months. I must have been pretty Scary-Mommy! (BTW, I only started unbuttoning my pants.  That’s all it took)

It gets pretty scary in the house when I do my “Mad Mad Madam Mim” immitation from The Sword and The Stone or the Lady in the Portrait from Harry Potter when she can just break a glass “Just with My Voice.” The threat to do those immitations in front of their friends pretty much makes them toe the line.

Then, I get pretty SCARY MOMMY when I create visual lectures on relationships and stuff, like “You’re a Cake” and “Hubba Bubba” and “Are you Man Enough?”  And then I share them over S’Mores and Pizza when they bring  BFFS over or I get a chance to hang around their “girl” friends at soccer games or church. It’s so scary, they almost like it.

witchcatA truly SCARY MOMMY makes sure Santa stuffs stockings for the older sons with things like Payne’s Common Sense, Tocqueville’s Democracy in America or C.S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity. However, for every Scary Mommy high moment, there is an equal Scary Mommy low moment, like when I reviewed every Def Leppard song with my son who disagreed that every Def Leppard song is about sex.  We were trying to eliminate the sin-with-a-good-beat music choices.  All Scary Mommy had to do was raise an eyebrow.  My son conceded victory, but Scary Mommy was rather red-faced. Def Leppart no longer blared at the house.

I am probably SCARY MOMMY when I lose my temper, my keys, and when I drive (not quite all at the same time).

SCARY MOMMY loves enough to risk pride, respect, and affection in order to be the mom my son’s need me to be. SCARY MOMMY can be meaner, but SCARY MOMMY gives Volcano kisses that slobber all over their cheeks, bear hugs that can lift the biggest one of them all off the ground, and say, “I’m sorry. I really missed it” when I handle mommy-ness wrong.

SCARY MOMMY has a pretty scary sense of humor.  When one son, whom we call “Bear” got in the car after soccer practice all cold and shivering, I asked him,” What’s the saddest sight in the whole wide world?”

“I don’t know. Your cooking?” he answered. I almost forgot my joke.

“A hairless bear shivering with cold,” I answered.  Now readers, you need to visualize that before you can truly appreciate the SCARY MOMMY humor.

momboysbarn.jpgThe boys would really think I was SCARY MOMMY if they knew what I was like without God in my life giving me the strength, the courage, the inspiration, the never-give-up-ness to believe in their innate goodness when it’s on sabitacal, to believe they are walking in God’s plan for their lives when it seems like every plan has been thrown away, to believe they have generous hearts when they are tight-fisted with their brothers, and to love passionately and unconditionally even when they don’t want to love me back.  SCARY MOMMY drops to her knees in prayer when life is scarier than she is!

SCARY MOMMY? Bring it on! Sometimes I just plain scare myself!

See also Socialism or Capitalism: Trick or Treat or Halloween is. . .

Wishing you a day of celebrating family!

Read Full Post »

03-08-2009 04;28;20PMMy grandmother, Mary Edna, taught me  about strength. One bright sunny morning, she moved from grandmother to something closer and more powerful.

The sun was pouring through the big upstairs windows at her house. Spending the night at grandmother and grandfather’s house, drinking hot chocolate for breakfast-that was the life-except that morning, grandmother accidently put coffee in my milk instead of cocoa.

“Can I live here forever?” I asked. I asked it every time. We were upstairs straightening the beds when the phone rang, you know the 1968 phone ring. Grandmother answered, handing me the phone to talk to my mom.

“Can I live here forever?” I remember asking into the phone.

My mother said, “Yes.”

Wow! Talk about getting what you wish for! It left me speechless. I remember wandering downstairs, onto the front porch, swinging. The milkman came, leaving two bottles of milk in the milk box.

Mom, my brother, and I moved in a few weeks later. Morning hot chocolates stopped. We weren’t just grandchildren anymore. We were something. . . more.

There were times when I wondered how my grandfather could love such a woman. The older I got, the more I understood. You need strength to push through tough times. You need strength to make meager times rich. You need strength to have hope.

She could be sharp, judgmental, and an adherent to Amy Vanderbilt’s Book of Etiquette. Despite that, she made me feel beautiful on the inside. That’s what mattered most to me—that’s where I wanted to be beautiful.

I learned as I grew into a young woman the need to stand up for what I believed. If I didn’t, she could just roll right over me.

It terrified me to stand up to her. She could wield the look. Most people would just give up if she gave you the look. Deep inside, I knew I couldn’t give up. If I did, I would lose . . . .me. So I would stand up to her. . . and when there was nothing left to do, then I would just stand.

She respected that.

I learned that if I could stand up to her, I could stand up to anybody or for anything. A lot of shoe quaking is involved in the standing up to a seemingly greater than oneself. Sweaty palms, too, often followed sometimes by light-headed-ness, probably due to a lack of oxygen. Sometimes life requires moments like this, the standing-up-for-something-inside-of-ourselves moments. Moments where you can’t afford to stand down.

One day after my first son was born, we gathered in the family room, my grandmother, aunt, mom, and I. Everyone was enjoying the baby. I got up and turned the corner to the kitchen when I hit on a chair my very sensitive part of the shin, that funnybone part that when knocked just the right when in the moment of busyness has nothing funny about it, just exquisite pain.

I cursed. Then I inwardly cursed again when the family room went stone quiet. I never cursed. At least, not until I started driving, and then only when I was driving. Then I got married, and the battle increased. Then I had a baby. However, these women in my family respected how I struggled never to curse.

I had a reputation that with the split-second shin hit was about to be torn to shreds. The silence screamed condemnation. I took a deep breath, and stuck my head around the corner, ready to take the lashing. There are times where it only takes one incident to destroy one’s reputation.

Scan6_2_0039_039Everyone was looking at grandmother, the great matriarch, waiting for the verdict, the censure. My character failure would be recalled again and again. Just like the one time I opened a Christmas present early and rewrapped it. A criminal just can’t keep a secret; they have to brag. Stupid me! You’d think I had done it every Christmas.

My grandmother looked them square in the eye, and said, “My mother always said there was a time and place to curse. I believe you just found it.”

The conversation turned. Not a word was ever said about the incident again. She had secured my dignity.

I miss her every day! I used the strength she instilled in me every day. With a house full of sons to raise, they can’t ever see you sweat! Toppling into a weepy puddle is just not an option—at least not in front of them.

It is hard balancing the two, a stick that won’t be broken and a gentle hand filled with compassion. I fail often; however, I cannot afford to give up. That dog-gone strength I built from standing up to her just won’t let me.

God replaced the loss of a father with a great gift—my grandmother who taught me to be strong.

Read Full Post »

Tag-Team Chaos Results = 100 squats for every participant

You know about tag-team chaos, don’t you? First one provokes another who provokes another. Nobody stands down when the referee (me) orders the participants to stop or take it down a notch. The result? No red card! No fouls! No being thrown out of the house or car (LOL) – just squats! Beautiful form, this discipline. And I don’t have to raise a hand!

The oldest one walked away saying, “I did mine.”

One of his brothers said, “No! He didn’t do 100.”

I just looked at him and said, “Well, I don’t know. But God knows exactly how many you did. Can you live knowing God knows you lied?”

He smiled at me – yes, the teen smiled at me. And he finished his squats.

Sometimes being a mom has its. . . ahem. . . oddly sweet moments – even in tag-team chaos.

For more on squats, please visit my post, “The Discipline of Squats.”

Read Full Post »

I am resposting “Shouldn’t Children be Encouraged to Defend Themselves” today. Sadly, a high school student at my sons’ high school was stabbed during an in-school brawl with a kitchen knife. He was air-lifted in critical condition. Word of mouth discusses one student taunting, both fighting, one evening the odds. The school went into lock-down mode. I firmly believe that a passive approach to bullying and mis-behavior breeds out-of-control violence. I cannot express the saddness in my heart for these two young men and their families. I cannot express the feeling of frustration that makes me feel like sending my sons to school is like playing Russian Roulette with their lives. I am going to make Monday in my home an unofficial Day of Prayer Against Violence in Our Schools. Won’t you join me?

Shouldn’t Children be Encouraged to Defend Themselves

soldiers“The world is governed by the aggressive use of force,” was played out last week with the death of an honor student in Chicago by violent gang members. Aggressive force ruled. There are two types of aggressive force: Aggressive forced used offensively, and Aggressive force used defensively.

In the public school system, Aggressive Force Used Offensively wins. If Johnney, uses aggressive force offensively by kicking, punching, or pulling a knife, and Sam, uses aggressive force defensively to stop the kicking, punching, or pulling a kinife. Both are punished. Equally. Sam gets suspended for defending himself. Johnney gets suspended, too.

The young man-yes, young man, not a child, who was killed would have been suspended for defending himself if that had happened on school grounds.

The system emasculates rule-abiding students, while empowering rule-breaking students

My 3rd grader is being kicked, shoved, and verbally assaulted consistently. The teacher admitted using everthing in his behavior-solution bag, “I don’t know what else to do.” My son’s 3rd grade world is governed by the aggressive use of force-except the governing force is a fellow 3rd grader.

My husband told him that if the child hits him, to hit back twice as hard. However, if that happens, my son risks earning the same rap sheet as the instigator.

fight2One of my sons had a similar, but more threatening experience in 7th grade. As the principal explained to me, it all stareted when the class bully kept throwing tootsie rolls at a girl and hitting her in the eye. My son told him to stop. It was Halloween. After Thanksgiving, this same student pulled a knife on my son and threatened to use that same knife to stab him in the back and kill him the next week.

My son’s middle school world was governed by the aggressive use of force.

I asked the principal, “Is this a kid who is just having a tough day, or is this a kid with a history of issues?”

She couldn’t tell me. She also could not do anything about the student with the knife: even though other students had seen the knife, it didn’t count because a teacher didn’t see the knife.

My son was told to always have a witness with him, whether he went to the bathroom, soccer practice, or changed class.

boxingI was assured that my son had just as fine of privacy rights as the student who pulled the knife. I countered that my son didn’t have anything to hide, so I didn’t need those privacy rights.

This student was in and out of school for the rest of the year. Each time he came back, the threats would increase. We met with the principal again. We told her that we gave our son permission to take 2 hits (understand that in the 7th grade, he was already 6 ft. 2 inches tall with the strength to seriously injure this little guy). If someone didn’t pull the young man off of him, then he had our permission to knock him to the next county. Even though, after taking 2 hits, and finally defending himself would result in a suspension.

“The world is governed by the aggressive use of force.”

Students who are coached and threated not to defend themselves are being subjugated by those using the aggressive use of force.

The public school system is training children and young adults to not fight back, while letting those who use the aggressive use of force freedom to do so. Why? They have simply exhausted their bag of solutions.

They are creating a country of citizens who do not know how to defend themselves, to stand up and face an enemy force, to possibly save their life. Iwant the school sytems to stop tying my son’s hands behind their backs and forcing them to take the aggression.

marinesI want the school system to teach that right is might.

Sometimes the aggressive use of force, when used defensively, stops the bullies, bad guys, and murderers from continuing their reign of terror. Self-defense is an American right, for the adults and the children, too.

Sometimes a strong defense is the solution to the aggressive use of force. Sometimes the defensive aggressive use of force can bring peace to the world. . . and even the 3rd grade.

Read Full Post »

soldiers“The world is governed by the aggressive use of force,” was played out last week with the death of an honor student in Chicago by violent gang members. Aggressive force ruled. There are two types of aggressive force: Aggressive forced used offensively, and Aggressive force used defensively.

In the public school system, Aggressive Force Used Offensively wins. If Johnney, uses aggressive force offensively by kicking, punching, or pulling a knife, and Sam, uses aggressive force defensively to stop the kicking, punching, or pulling a kinife.  Both are punished.  Equally.  Sam gets suspended for defending himself.  Johnney gets suspended, too. 

The young man-yes, young man, not a child, who was killed would have been suspended for defending himself if that had happened on school grounds.

The system emasculates rule-abiding students, while empowering rule-breaking students

My 3rd grader is being kicked, shoved, and verbally assaulted consistently. The teacher admitted using everthing in his behavior-solution bag, “I don’t know what else to do.” My son’s 3rd grade world is governed by the aggressive use of force-except the governing force is a fellow 3rd grader.

My husband told him that if the child hits him, to hit back twice as hard.  However, if that happens, my son risks earning the same rap sheet as the instigator.

fight2One of my sons had a similar, but more threatening experience in 7th grade.  As the principal explained to me, it all stareted when the class bully kept throwing tootsie rolls at a girl and hitting her in the eye.  My son told him to stop.  It was Halloween.  After Thanksgiving, this same student pulled a knife on my son and threatened to use that same knife to stab him in the back and kill him the next week.

My son’s middle school world was governed by the aggressive use of force.

I asked the principal, “Is this a kid who is just having a tough day, or is this a kid with a history of issues?”

She couldn’t tell me. She also could not do anything about the student with the knife:  even though other students had seen the knife, it didn’t count because a teacher didn’t see the knife.

My son was told to always have a witness with him, whether he went to the bathroom, soccer practice, or changed class.

boxingI was assured that my son had just as fine of privacy rights as the student who pulled the knife.  I countered that my son didn’t have anything to hide, so I didn’t need those privacy rights.

This student was in and out of school for the rest of the year.  Each time he came back, the threats would increase.  We met with the principal again.  We told her that we gave our son permission to take 2 hits (understand that in the 7th grade, he was already 6 ft. 2 inches tall with the strength to seriously injure this little guy).  If someone didn’t pull the young man off of him, then he had our permission to knock him to the next county.  Even though, after taking 2 hits, and finally defending himself would result in a suspension.

“The world is governed by the aggressive use of force.”

Students who are coached and threated not to defend themselves are being subjugated by those using the aggressive use of force.

The public school system is training children and young adults to not fight back, while letting those who use the aggressive use of force freedom to do so. Why?  They have simply exhausted their bag of solutions.

They are creating a country of citizens who do not know how to defend themselves, to stand up and face an enemy force, to possibly save their life. Iwant the school sytems to stop tying my son’s hands behind their backs and forcing them to take the aggression.

marinesI want the school system to teach that right is might.

Sometimes the aggressive use of force, when used defensively, stops the bullies, bad guys, and murderers from continuing their reign of terror.  Self-defense is an American right, for the adults and the children, too.

Sometimes a strong defense is the solution to the aggressive use of force.  Sometimes the defensive aggressive use of force can bring peace to the world. . . and even the 3rd grade.

Read Full Post »

7-24-2007-030Experience allows a more 20/20 perspective on behavior. Otherwise, the other night, I probably would have notched my stress level to Red Alert, incited an inquisition and reduced my little guy to tears. As a matter of fact, he was disappointed I didn’t make him cry.

I was snuggled in a blanket reading The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins.  Whenever life gets a little stressful, I succumb to 19th century literature.  Nineteenth Century lit always has a happy ending.  Last week, I finished Jane Austin’s Persuasion to assuage my stress.  We are physically moving our household this weekend to another state.  School starts Monday.  We’ve been living with my lovely in-laws on and off during the summer, getting the boys moved up for their sports activities.  I’m sure I’m going to need another dose of Austin before the next week is out!

My little guy, the Human Resource Department of the family, entered. “Mom,” he said. “I gotta tell you something.”

“Oh, what have you got to tell me,” I asked.  I could pull out a folder a mile long on “I gotta tell you something.”  This folder could boast of owls in the yard, snakes on the living room floor, the family room on fire, a project due tomorrow, broken dishes, spilled drinks, or just simply, “I love you.”  I was hoping for “I love you.”

“I’ve been saying bad words,” he answered.

Shew!  I’ve been here before. I can handle this. I set my book down, asking, “When did you say these bad words?”

“Well, I know about 2 or 3.  But I didn’t know they were bad when I said them,” he explained, in a matter of fact voice.

“When did you say these bad words?” I repeated, reigning in the conversation, my information-gathering detective mode kicking in.

100_1225_0042“Well, one was a very long time ago,” and then he rambled on a bit about the others.  I wasn not about to ask him what the words were.  I could guess.  Reducing him to embarrassed giggles by making him recite them would detract from the message.  Besides, if he is not supposed to say them, asking him to do so somewhat defeats that directive.

“If you know they’re bad words, then don’t say them again. O.K.,” I instructed. 

He waited, looked a little crestfallen. “Are you going to spank me?” he asked.

“No.  Not if you don’t say the words again.  You know the right thing to do,” I assured him.

“Can I pretend to cry, go upstairs to [Fire and Power], and tell him you spanked me,” he asked, hopeful. After all, he had a plan.  It looked like the plan began and ended with him pulling a prank on his brother, not true despair and repentance over word choice.

“Do we need to talk about truth-telling and lying now?” I asked, trying to pierce him with my sternest look.

It probably didn’t end that way when the first and second son came in years ago, saying the same thing.  I probably made more out of it than I should have. Some things don’t change: Same conversation, different sons.  8830976-R1-042-19AIt is part of growing up, learning to decipher good behavior choices from bad.  They just want reassurance they know the right choices, the right language from the wrong.  My oldest son says that I am easier on the younger ones than I was on him.  I think I am a little wiser in how I handle parenting challenges. For example, subtle pressure verses lowering the boom can be quite powerful. 

Funny how little moments like that, spiced with some pure mischievousness can lighten your heart and reduce your stress better than a good 19th century classic!

Read Full Post »

My very favorite niece advised me to keep posts short. Perceiver of Truth will tell you that if you want a quick answer, don’t go to mom.  If you want to sit down, savor a conversation, talk detail, then I’m the go-to mom.  There’s a sign on my porch that says, “Sit Long. Talk Much.” At 40, I learned to love who God made me to be.  “Sit Long. Talk Much”–that’s me.

I did shorten my last piece.  Really!  I did. Today’s post is the edited portion from “Whatever You do, Do with All Your Might.”  I really did try to sit long, post little.

Let’s finish my discussion on working. Instilling a great work ethic in our children gives them wings to soar. Let me be very clear here.  I am not saying that I have successfully instilled a great work ethic in my children.  It is a work in progress.  I don’t know if what I’m doing is right.  All I know is that I have to step forward in faith one day at a time, make the best decisions with the information I have, and plant seeds-verbally, through my example, and what I culturally bring into our sphere.

However, I want to take “Working with All Your Might” two steps further.  First, we need to define work.  Work is any task to which hands are put. 

Work comes in at least 2 categories; tasks that are a chore: a burden, grind, trail.  It is part of the rat race, not who we are or how we define ourselves. Chores are defined as unstimulating, demeaning, trash-talking opportunities accompanied by a little whine.  After all, chores are “not who we are.”

Work can also be a “career” or a hobby by which we define ourselves, like a badge that boasts of talent, work ethic, success.  Can you say “Career” and not smile? Or think the name of your hobby and not eagerly anticipate?

Biblically, there is no differentiation between chore, career, or hobby.  We are encouraged to do our best, to work with all our might.

Not only does God want us to work with all our might at whatever we happento be do, but He wants our work to be praise:

“In all that you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord and not for me”(Colossians 3:23)

Able offered the firstborn of his flock-considered the best he had to offer (Genesis 4:4). Second-best offerings resulted in punishment, a lack of favor.

Abraham offered to sacrifice the desire of his heart, his dream (Genesis: 22).  Sacrificial offerings were never second best.  God offered his perfect son.  He didn’t change the rules of sacrificial offering for Him–He was the example for us to follow.

We have only ourselves to offer God.  That part of ourselves includes the work of our hands, hands dipped in the kitchen sink, folding laundry, fingers typing words of encouragement or relating a hilarious story, hands driving, or creating beautiful cards, scrapbooks, delicious recipes, weeding the walkway, rubbing lotion on poison ivy.

How can work be a trudge when we are offering that work as praise?  Does that change what you think about your “chores?”  While sitting here typing, my kitchen says, “No–there’s definitely no work as praise going on in here right now.”  The laundry room–imagine my laundry–instead of saying, “It’s a curse” (remember, what you speak is what you get) “I’m going to walk the talk this next week.

Doing my best for God!.  It might not be perfect, but I’m going to try my best at whatever I turn my hand to as a gift to God saying, “Thank You for all You have done for me.”

Maybe I will develop a better example for my sons to follow. Maybe that is how to successfully plant a strong work ethic in my sons!

Special thanks to Mummy McTavish for posting a note.  Her comment gave me the encouragement I needed to complete my discussion.  Visit her at samster-dot-com.blogspot.com.

*I would have taken pictures of my kitchen, but my camera is packed for our BIG MOVE this weekend to a whole new frontier!

 

 

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »