This Made Me Think

Recently, I popped over to a blog I frequent, to find that the author had written about her 4 year old son.

She recounted the issue of his spending the better part of the day using the word "poop" in all his conversation...you know the type "Hey mom, what's for breakfast? Poop's for breakfast!" and on and on. She shared how she went through her discipline rituals of stern words, a small smack each time he said it, finally resulting in asking him how he thought God felt when used words like that? She invited us to answer if we'd ever used "the God" question, and if it made us feel guilty or not.

This sparked a flurry of comments, some agreeing, some indifferent, most chuckling over the incident and thanking her for a new way to attempt to train their children. One reader commented very strongly about how they felt about the whole situation, and basically came across that we were all horrible for thinking it was ok to smack your children for disciplinary reasons, and that the religious should NEVER use God as a tool, because we would degrade our authority as parents, as well as God's authority as a deity.

I was a bit heated up about it, and, while I understand that kids will be kids, and will do and say things that make us groan at their lack of filtering as they learn what is appropriate to say and do as they grow, I do want to say this.

You can think what you like of me, but this is who I am.

• As a parent, it is my responsibility to instill values, decision-making skills, and independence into my children
• It is also my responsibility to teach them right from wrong, how to use their judgment to make good decisions, and to follow the rules

That being said, I will tell you this:
I was raised in a house filled with love and laughter. We were kissed, hugged, snuggled, tousled, tumbled, wrestled, slug-bugged, purple-hermaned, noogied, wet-willied, carried, thrown, bounced, rolled, and any other type of physical connection you can think of in a family context. My parents were openly affectionate with each of us children, as well as with each other...in fact, they often smooched in the kitchen (grossing us out when we were younger), held hands, and hugged.
I was also raised in a house where I was taught to respect people in positions of authority, and to follow the rules. I was taught right from wrong, and what words are ok to say and not ok to say. What type of behavior is alright, and what is not. When we broke the rules, we were spanked. I'm not talking a beating, in fact, I know I never carried so much as a red mark from contact on my butt from my parent's hand. I never carried the sting more than a few seconds. I was never punished in anger. I never felt endangered, or fearful. I was probably 7 before my punishments for breaking the rules changed from being spanked (one swat just under the curve of my butt cheek) to having privileges revoked.

You see, my parents were wise enough to realize that each of us kids had a different personality, and responded differently to situations. This means, that when we were mad, sad, afraid, happy, whatever, we each acted differently...my brothers ranged from isolating themselves, to being loud and verbal in their emotions to somewhere in the middle. I was different. We also all reacted differently to how we learned. I was big on rewards, tangible evidence that I'd done well. A new doll, a star on my paper at school, an award at the end of the year...SO, when I broke the rules at home, and my parents needed to teach me that it was not acceptable to break the rules, let alone endanger myself and/or others (I made some dumb decisions when I was little people), I had privileges and items revoked. Knowing that I'd lost something that was dear to me spoke WAY more to me than having my hand smacked, or my butt swatted. My sister, on the other hand needed to know that it was more than just things...it was the physical contact that spoke to her more than anything.

Not that any of us were bad, doing illegal things...we just broke curfew, went somewhere we hadn't told our parents...nothing major in the grand scheme of things, but still...we broke the rules.

Now that I'm a parent, I understand what my parents saw. Captain Chaos is all about order, things being just so, in their proper place, and I can often quell misbehavior (inappropriate words, taking toys away, not listening when we're in busy places, not obeying the pick up the toys and come here sort of things) with stern words. Sometimes, it takes stern words and then time-out. Occasionally, it takes a little sting on his backside to get his attention and make him realize that he has broken the rule, he may NOT do/say whatever he'd done/said.

Tiny Princess, on the other hand, responds right now to a tap on her hand...

I also believe in teaching my chidren the values that go along with my faith. Simply, very simply, put, God is watching us, and He wants us to do the right things, and to obey. To do the things that don' t hurt Him.

For me, that translates into something as simple as "don't say bad words" because those words don't build other people up.

Does that mean that we don't laugh, play, giggle, say silly things and make words fun, but we do not use many words in our house. Period. As for those we use, they are used appropriately, so that Capt and Tiny Princess will learn context, proper grammar, sentence structure, and, hopefully not have issues to deal with when they are in a formal learning environment.

Call me strict, call me old-fashioned, call me whatever you'd like, but I do ask Captain Chaos "How do you think it makes God feel when you _______? Is He happy? Is He sad that you're ________?"

I think it helps to instill, at the very least, a sense of personal responsibility - how do the things I choose affect those around me? On a larger scale, it helps them realize that their decisions have consequences beyond the here and now...to an eternal level, according to my beliefs.

As I've said...take it or leave it. Your choice.

Its just who I am.

I welcome comments on this if you so desire.