Good skating class yesterday. Jack is getting more confident and he’s able to make little jumps, lift one blade off the ice while moving and he still shimmies backwards faster than the other kids. Now back to what a horrible little boy he is otherwise…
Just foolin’ – I wouldn’t want the discussion of discipline to suggest that it’s ever present in my head because our children are ferocious minions of Satan. It’s not that they’re bad kids in the least. Elisa and I have been pretty freaking lucky in the amount of compliments we get on the monkeys’ behavior in public. Until yesterday I could’ve claimed a perfect record for Elsie –then she had a toxic meltdown at the rink, over getting “blue” Doritos instead of “red”, and blew her streak to smithereens. Still, they’re good kids overall. But they are children and even the best ones have to mess up now and then. If a kid is not trying to give their parents headaches on a regular basis then he/she probably needs to get tested for autism.
Chit-chat with parents over children’s behavior often circles around to disciplinary techniques. Since corporal punishment has faded from the mainstream, well nobody admits to spanking anymore, the prominent mode of “behavior correction” appears to be the “time-out”. That phrase never gets used around here – it’s got to be among the most namby-pamby, wishy-washy, pansy-ass ideas about child rearing out there. I’ve grown to look forward to other parents asking me about it because I love to run my opinions like a lawn mower over the daisies in other people’s imaginary worlds.
“You’re kids are so polite and well behaved, you must be doing something right. Do you do time-outs?”
“Time-outs? No f’n way… When the kids screw up I barricade them in their rooms until the demons that turned them into dickheads leave to find new host bodies.”
Time-outs suggest a need for a break or to draw up new game plans, like how to really mess up your sister without getting caught or how to seize power and have dad guillotined for treason. The time-out doesn’t imply that a kid actually crossed a line, only that she/he has to take a breather, shake it off and get right back to the fun in a few minutes. I think that “room banishment” carries more impact as we leave the time frame indefinite. All Jack and Elsie can do is stew, rampage and hate our guts until the main message struggles up to the high ground in their brains: only nice, well-behaved kids get to play or just be in the normal flow of things.
An interesting upside to this punishment is that sometimes they cool off and decide to stay in their rooms anyway. Alarmed by the ghastly unnatural quiet we’ll head upstairs to see if somebody knocked themselves out in a tantrum or hopped out the window, running off to join a biker gang. A crack of the door will reveal that, holy crap… Jack is building barns with Lincoln Logs or practicing writing in his notebook; Elsie is pretending to read to her stuffed monkeys or playing dress-up. They refocused themselves on creative activity during exile. I’d like to see how that would ever happen in a 10 minute time-out.
Parents who prefer the time-out are often ones who have to use it a whole goddamn lot. Visiting folks of this bent with your kids can lead to a lot of this cyclical wackiness: “Would you mind keeping an eye on everybody? I have to put Cody in time-outs…I’m sorry, wouldja mind? Madison needs a time-out…Cody needs another…Now Declan has to go…Ohhh, Maddie is back in time-out, Cody needs a nap, Declan is crying…I’m sooo sorry, maybe the kids can play some other time…”
Funnier still, in an awful way, are people who only threaten time-outs. They’re usually the progenitors of the nastiest little fucks on the playground. You can’t threaten a child with anything unless you plan on following through. And dainty little caveats to William about maybe taking five if he keeps punching Owen will have the bastard laughing the idea off. Just before he socks Owen in the gut.
“Oooo, William! You are going to make Mummie very cross…”
I hate seeing that stuff and think it’s a shame Owen’s parents can’t get a little corporal on William. It’d nice if I could punch William’s Mummie in the face for helping her son become a bully and a jerk. But that would mean I’d get a “time-out” complete with a ride in a squad car, a restraining order and a civil suit. And everybody wonders why there are so many extra brats in America today.