My eyes immediately began scanning my daughter Elsie’s hand as I approached her in the school pick-up line.
I almost rear-ended the car in front of me trying to get a closer look of her hand that was she clearly trying to hide under her shirt.
I didn’t see her green smiling face, which indicated she had not been good that day during school. All I saw was a clean, spotless hand. No smiling face.
“Are you kidding me,” I mumbled to myself as I stopped in line to pick her and her brother James up.
As I got out the car to open the door for her, the face she gave me was enough to show her guilt. Her chin was touching her chest, and her eyes were glued on the concrete.
“I accidentally got in trouble today,” she ever-so-softly spoke.
By this time, James was coming around the front of the truck like Dizzy Dean rounding the bases. He was about to burst, ready to tattle on Elsie.
“Elsie didn’t get on green today,” he proclaimed. “She got in trouble.”
“Yes, son...I am aware of that,” I replied, shoving book bags in the back of the car.
As we pulled away from the school, the interrogation began. I must admit, Elsie is a tough cookie to crack. James immediately begins ratting on himself and three other kids within a second of badgering.
But not Elsie. She’s a stone.
I never get the complete story out of Elsie until I begin threatening to pull over and start spanking. Don’t judge. If you are a parent, you have steamed off threats as you looked for a safe place to pull over.
The mere sound of the gravel from the side of the road hitting the tires indicating that I am about to pull over usually has Elsie singing like a canary.
On this particular day, I got the story out of her quickly. And I vowed to “tell Daddy” since she takes heed to his warnings more than mine.
Meanwhile, James is grinning from ear to ear. He is about to combust with so much excitement, knowing that Elsie is going to get punished.
At that point, a stern look in the rear view mirror usually eliminates that smile.
I haven’t quite figured out what punishment-style works best for all three of my children.
Do I give a stern talk or a pop on the behind? Do I do time outs or take things away? Do I threaten to do “horrible” things at home or just go ahead and do it in public?
It all really matters on the kid I guess.
You should have heard the meltdown of the century when my husband Jason snapped in the car during a long trip. The toy that kept starting World War III in the back seat got thrown out of the window. Elsie screamed for three hours over a McDonalds toy, not worth a nickel, being thrown out into the dark night.
But there were no more arguments over cheap fast food toys after that spectacle.
We also have a place in town called “Ms. Tootin’s Place.” It is an abandoned house that leans to the right, covered with kudzu. We have the kids believing that Ms. Tootin runs a daycare there. If a tantrum begins, we ride by slowly and threaten to drop them off.
“All she gives at snack time is booger bars,” Jason says, trying not to laugh.
“I don’t want a booger bar,” Elsie replies, quickly settling down.
The mere mention of Ms. Tootin has ended fist fights and toy tug-of-wars in the back seat. Jason seems to delight in inventing stories about how bad it is at Ms. Tootin’s place.
We threaten to cancel birthdays, sleepovers and family vacations. I have promised to give toys to kids who appreciate things. Whatever works I guess.
Some of those methods still work. My own mother will end our annual Walt Disney World trip if I get too sassy at 34 years old.
You simply do what you have to do to make the punishment fit the crime. Some methods may work, some not.
But judging by the number of cars I see pass Ms. Tootin’s house with parents pulling their hair and children slammed up against the windows fighting...I don’t think we’re alone
