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I Don’t Know Much But I Know I Don’t Spank

I gave my son a slap on the behind yesterday. It shocked us both. He was startled because I told him nine months ago that I wasn’t going to spank him ever again.

I want to say that it wasn’t really a spanking, that instead it was an attempt to get his attention, a physical reminder to listen to me. I suppose that’s technically accurate. But I think it was a slip, a momentary relapse into my old habits of taking short cuts.

change their hearts pinnableParenting Short Cuts

Spanking, and the threat of a spanking, used to be my parenting short-cut to desired behavior. Rather than work with my children to understand how their disrespect or treatment of others damaged relationships, rather than walk through the ways defying me can endanger their lives, rather than show them the real-life fruit of selfishness and revenge in the loss of privileges and broken trust, rather than take a more time-consuming route to their hearts, I too often opted for a short cut. I used my kids’ desire to avoid discomfort to short-circuit their bad behavior instead of doing the often agonizing, always complicated, definitely constructive work of training and teaching.

One day, I heard the words I was saying differently, the way sound comes in so clearly after popping your ears. I sensed cognitive dissonance over spanking as the foundation of raising children. When one of the kids struck another, I would send the offender to my room. But how could I spank a child for striking their sibling? That doesn’t make any sense. I couldn’t do it. Gradually, I began choosing other approaches to showing my children the foolishness and hurtful results of their choices. As time went by, I began to reconsider when and how I used spanking.

Read the rest at Parenting Wild Things.

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faithful parenting

I’m joining several parents in a conversation we’ve called “Faithful Parenting: A Gentle Parenting Series from a Christian Perspective.” I also hope that you have some suggestions for me, as I still have so many things to figure out.

 

 

No Matter What: My One Good Phrase

Micha Boyett and I would be best friends by now, if fate hadn’t intervened and spoiled our plans. Micha was originally on the World Vision team that traveled to Sri Lanka last summer, but had to withdraw when her husband got a job transfer and they had to move. I still hope to meet her in person one day, but for now, I’m settling for joining her for a special series on her blog, Mama Monk.

one good phrase

She began the series she’s calling “One Good Phrase” a couple of weeks ago. She asked us to examine one good phrase, whether it was something told to us, something we tell ourselves, or something we tell others.

This post wrote itself, and made me cry. Then I cried some more when I read it to Scott. I feel it that deeply.

I have four children, three living. My oldest fought for her life for eight years through hospital stays, surgeries, therapies, special education, medications, feeding tubes, wheelchairs, emergency rooms, breathing treatments, seizures, and sleepless nights (both hers and ours). She lost her fight in October of 2008. It has been over four years, and I still have a difficult time accepting that those three sentences are part of my story.

We all know in our guts that a parent ought not have to bury their child. It’s against the natural order of things. The old die, not the young.

I have three other children, and that is a gift. Caring for them kept me from drowning in my grief. Caring for them has allowed me to experience new facets of another thing we all know in our guts. I like to think of it as the first law of parenting: a parent ought to love their children no matter what.

No matter what.

I’m no Pollyanna. I know that ought is no unbreakable law. Just as parents like me face the unthinkable and bury our children, so too do parents commit the unthinkable – disown, abandon, or reject a child. I’ve seen it.

Read the rest here.

Comments are closed here, but I’ll be reading and responding to comments on Micha’s blog. 

Playing Super Mario Brothers Is Not Wasting Time

“Mom, let’s see how strong you are at Mario.” My five-year-old waves a Wii remote at me.

playing Mario Brothers with my son

I remember what Scott told me two days ago: “That hour I spent playing Wii with him meant so much, Joy. Even though I’m terrible at it.”

I smile, and close the lid of my laptop. “I’m weak at Super Mario Brothers, buddy.” [Read more...]