Discipline is a tricky subject. We have our own views, and we all know what Super Nanny suggests, but sometimes it doesn’t work like that.
I know, especially with the boys the age that they are, it’s often about consistency and picking battles. Everyone picks different battles, you have to do what’s right for you (get me being all diplomatic).
I’ve always tried to be consistent, but I admit sometimes it doesn’t always go as planned. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out
I can’t be arsed. Sometimes you are distracted with other things, and sometimes you’re just so tired that your fuse is shorter. By you I obviously mean me.
I rely quite heavily on the counting and putting in the hall methods. Along with a reward chart and the odd bellowing shout. Or to put it simply “I muddle along helplessly”. I am however usually fairly consistent with my muddling, for example, The Beast is aware that I mean business if I begin to count. He may think he can counteract this with shouting “DON’T COUNT…I SAID DON’T COUNT MUMMY”, but he can’t. I try to reason with my children, I really really do, but sometimes, especially the fat one, they just don’t LISTEN. Admittedly, I wouldn’t think me a very authorative figure at times, but that’s BESIDE THE POINT, I’m the mummy they should ALWAYS listen. What? My stroppy teenage tantrum doesn’t help prove my point? Oh.
Anyway, I’m not proud to admit it, but sometimes, once I’ve worn out the coaxing, the threatening, the shouting, the counting and the foot stomping stomping, I have to use some slightly more unconventional methods.
I know you’ve heard about these before, some of them may include brute force. Sometimes it’s the only way! Up until I had Fatty, I totally took for granted the fact that The Beast is actually quite weak and pathetic. Think Scrappy Doo if you will.
I took for granted that when The Beast was going through the terrible two’s, even heavily pregnant, I could continue to peruse a certain aisle in the supermarket by simply tucking him under one arm while he kicked and screamed. I may have even made a point of wandering up and down it a few times showing him who was in control. (HORMONES).
I totally took for granted that when he refused to stand in the hall I would simply pick him up and “pop him down firmly” in it again for as many
hours minutes as it took – even post c-section it wasn’t an issue. Just as I totally took for granted that for the first nearly 3 years of his life if I decided I’d had enough, shut the door and leant on it, he couldn’t open it.
Or that in one swift
headbutt movement if he chose not to bend to go into the car seat, I could bend him for it. I still can.
Finally, I took for granted that when he refused to get dressed/let me change his nappy etc I could pin him down with one hand and complete the task without much bother.
With the Fat One it’s not as simple. With me being 5ft 1 with scrawny arms and him weighing in at around 17kg there are only so many times I can carry him back to the hall before my arms physically can no longer lift him.
With the Fat One tucking him under my one arm is dangerous, especially when he does an amazing “throwing himself back” thrust where he nearly topples me over and I have to concentrate on putting him on the floor carefully.
When it comes to getting him dressed is IMPOSSIBLE. Seriously, I’ve had to resort to a 20 minute work out of chasing him around whatever room we are in, putting one item of clothing on at a time. Changing a nappy when he’s not in the mood is just not a feasible option, so I have to resort to my final offer. Sitting on him. WHAT?! I’M 5ft1inch TALL! WHAT ELSE am I going to do?!
The Beast, as a whole, is a little easier to control, he’s not perfect, but you can usually
bribe reason with him. However, there are some days, when he’s right on the edge. You all know what I mean right? Tired/Hungry/highly strung. Slightly squeaky, answering back…him not me! When magnets don’t work, when threats don’t work, when there’s nowhere to lock place him to cool down. Sometimes you just have to show him who’s boss. So how do I do that? Why, I threaten him of course. NO, I’m not talking about anything that drastic, although I do appreciate the whole sitting on Fatty confession may not show me in the best light.
The phrase “Theodore if you don’t put your shoes on and get ready to leave soft play now I am going to take you into the toilets and turn the hand dryer on” may have been used a few times.
There. I said it. My eldest son is TERRIFIED of hand dryers. Won’t go near them, tells strangers not to turn them on, therefore, it is now my weapon.
After all, I’m here to teach my children right? Lesson number one Don’t show weakness.
I’m not the only one though am I? I’m not the only one to resort to the unconventional (“I’m not looking at you Theodore…not until you put your shoes on” “LOOOOK ATTT MEEEE LOOOOOK AT MEEE”), the weak (“You won’t be able to go to Big School if you don’t eat your dinner” – like I’m going to pass up the chance to free childcare five days a week), or the cruel (rustling a packet of crisps to ensure fat one folds into pushchair without turning into a plank, before handing them a tupperware pot containing grapes…although the joke is on me as I usually then have to de-slime the pushchair).
Please tell me I’m not the only one?!