Before I became a mother, I’d never experienced the feeling of wanting to throttle people I loved until spittle came out of their mouths.
I became familiar with this emotion, however, after I adopted my kids through foster care, occasionally pausing to consider whether the long jail term that would result would be worth it. Then, the little weasels would invariably do something to melt my heart, and all would be forgotten. Until next time.
Over the years, I got used to my blood pressure skyrocketing from zero to 800 in seconds when they punched my buttons, which they loved to do. I had a friend who described parenthood as being “nibbled to death by ducks” and that became my personal motto.
One of the issues of today’s parenthood is that we don’t have as many tools to correct naughty behavior. Time-outs can only go so far.
When I misbehaved as a child, my mom cut a switch off a tree and laid into the back of my legs. Our generally easy-going dad had a piece of leather he’d planned to make into a belt, and it lived in the top of the closet as a child torture device.
“Want me to get the belt?” he would occasionally shout, when we were being particularly obnoxious. He seldom actually did, but it got the message across. (None of this punishment could actually be classified as beatings, I hasten to add, our parents were nutty but generally benign and loving.)
This is no longer considered good parenting, but in our house, it did work. Fear isn’t a bonding experience, but it did keep our behavior in check.
Today, among my circle at least, I’d be considered abusive if I hit my kids. I did lose my mind and smack them a couple of times when they were growing up, generally when they were doing something unsafe that scared me. Afterward, I followed the advice of a friend who’d raised two great sons. She told me — in that circumstance — she’d apologize and then put her hand out and let the boys hit her back, on the theory that it was the power inequity that actually hurt. I took her advice. And my kids would hit my hand with great glee, about 1000 times harder than I’d hit them. “Ouch!” I’d say and shake my hand. They would laugh and the incident would be forgotten.
Mostly, though, I experimented with other ways to keep my sanity. One particular trigger for me was a long drive, when they’d invariably start a ferocious argument over nothing in the back seat.
Once day while driving to the San Diego Zoo, I just could not take it for one more second. I stopped my 4Runner on a relatively quiet stretch of road.
“Get out of the car,” I ordered the kids, as I opened my door and walked to the sidewalk. “Sit down on the curb.” They were confused, but did as they were told.
“We’re all going to stay here until you decide to stop fighting,” I told them. And we did. This worked like a magical charm, and I did it several times, until finally I didn’t even have to get out of the car.
I would just pull over, turn off the engine and sit there. “Mom, come on, let’s go,” the kids would insist.
“Nope, not until you start behaving properly. I’m just going to take a little nap,” I’d reply, and this wasn’t a hardship because I was always exhausted and looking for any excuse to nap.
“OK, OK, we’ll stop fighting!” they’d promise. “Let’s just go!” It worked. And maybe someday I’ll be using it again on my grandkids.
This technique got progressively harder as the kids became teenagers, because eventually they were driving themselves and I couldn’t force them do anything. I know some of you had wonderfully compliant children who would follow the house rules, and I envy you for it.
My teenage kids were stubborn and disobedient, probably because I’m just not an authoritarian person and never learned the proper use of guilt.
Luckily, they grew up to become useful members of society anyway, but I’m not sure how that happened. I did use the few tools available for teenage compliance. When real consequences were required, I took the doors off their rooms, removed the video game console or turned off the Wi-Fi. This worked. They already paid for their own phones and cars, so I didn’t have those for leverage.
I’m happy to say now that they’re both adults, and I’m no longer responsible for their behavior. Whew. Yes, I think they’d be happier if they followed my sage advice from decades of experience, but when they don’t, it’s not my problem.
And, now, they always want to drive when we go somewhere. I try not to be obnoxious, but it’s tempting.