askyermom

The idea that you should discipline your kids isn’t really questioned around these parts. When most people say you should discipline your kids, they mean to say you should control your kids.

This is a concept that some of us don’t want to engage with. We’re about freedom, we’re about expression and healthy discovery but we are also about avoidable trips to the emergency room. Discipline is a necessary evil, we think, like backpack snacks.

My need for additional control measures on my children was mercifully rare and we escaped horrifying consequences, mostly. By the time I had four kids, I realized that not only did the kids outnumber me, they did not fear me, only occasionally did they fear upsetting me at all.

In a comfortable and safe routine environment, this lack of fear of the parent is not much of an issue. They can bop around and try things and dabble with mildly dangerous experiments, like microwaving thermometers and antagonizing chickens. (Irritating chickens is wrong, of course, but the chickens forget in under two minutes and start acting like little jerks again. So on my wrongness scale, it only qualifies as mischief).

When you begin to feel you really have the hang of safety, something like a carnival appears in your otherwise safe and routine environment. I once visited a traveling carnival as a single parent with my big toddler and her seven-year-old sister. I love a carnival, except when I hate them. The people-watching is enjoyable and the kid energy is palpable. It’s a fun timing challenge to leave before the sticky heat and aromas get to be too much. Someone has perfected the carnival dose, I bet.

The neighborhood we visited no longer hosts an annual carnival, possibly because people figured out how uncomfortable the whole thing is. It had a particular brand of Baltimore charm, but it also had a cranky flavor that made me feel misplaced and nervous. The discomfort had nothing to do with the sea of tattoos.

The carnival was small with a fairway about one block long. (A fairway is a corridor of game booths and peddlers of food-like items. It used to be found exclusively at carnivals and boardwalks, but fairways now can be found in air conditioned spaces. It’s fine; air conditioning replaces the air of instability).

Finding anything along the fairway that would interest a three-year-old and a seven-year-old at the same time was challenging. In such a dilemma, the seven-year-old would usually win, just by virtue of vocabulary.

I decided the Ferris wheel was gentle and old fashioned enough to suit everyone. It moved slowly and seemed small and sturdy. I am not good at judging distances, or apparently the size of moving things. We clambered into our bench and started our ascent.

The three-year old began to fidget each time the wheel stopped to load new passengers and this is when my error became obvious. We were rising maybe ten feet each time, there was zero urgency in the process, and there would be no escape until we’d gone all the way around.

I know this because I immediately hollered to the attendant that we needed to get off. “Nope. Sorry,” was the answer.

We were not secured in a basket, it was just a bench with a bar. I pointed out the things we could see as we went up, but the view became less and less interesting to the little sister.

I read once that humans raised in dense forest could not understand perspective. When these people could finally view a distant cow they believed it was a tiny cow, not a regular cow far, far away. This was not a great thing to think about with a squirmy toddler who was losing all appreciation of distances and perspective.

“We are in real danger,” I said to the big sister. “You need to sit very still, because we’re very high off the ground now.”

She beamed back at me. She loved danger and heights, “I think if I rock the boat, it would be grrrrrrrrrreat.”

“You can rock when we’re on the ground.” I needed to measure the dose of information now. I could not reveal my panic or inspire any worst-case scenarios, even as my ears pounded with panic. “I need to hold your sister, tight.”

“Sleep tight!” She mimed rocking the gondola without actually rocking it.

I groaned in a way that made her stop. It was sweet how much they didn’t want to torture me, usually.

Prayers were swirling in my brain by the time we were 80 feet in the air. I belatedly noted that the wheel was on a hill and I didn’t care that we could see some stupid river. The little one had accepted my vice grip, while I worried if she became too sweaty, she could just squirt out of my arms.

Why did they let me get on with these two maniacs? Why did I always look for someone else to blame for my dumbest moves? Was this thing never going to move again?

“Why’re we stoppin’?” We were stopped at the top, which was also the top of my misery.

I shook my head. “We are not going to the hospital today.” I usually said this as a mild threat to let them know they were in mild danger of injury. Everyone was reassured. This was not a big deal.

I considered the attendant might have done this on purpose since I was clearly panicked and wanted to get off. She didn’t seem evil, but you never know.

My big girl continued to chat with me and I recognized that she was having a marvelous time. Seeing me pinned in place was novel, and I was literally a captive audience. I wish I could remember what she said, rapidly bored with tree tops, she had plenty to say about other things.

I thanked her for being so calm and helpful, but that was later, after we had gone one more screeching revolution and finally were permitted to leap back onto solid ground. I had learned that congratulating her prematurely would give her ideas.

What does all this have to do with discipline? I will elaborate!!

Luckily for my family, I was more interested in self-discipline than I was in controlling my kids. I cannot claim to have fully understood how important this focus would be for all of us. I knew that my calm was my job and my gift to them.

Since I wasn’t harping about everything I wanted them to do, the occasional safety orders got their attention. In a few truly dangerous situations, the kids listened to me when I told them to freeze or stay quiet or back up or take the snake to their room.

Maybe what got their attention was the novel tone of genuine emergency in contrast to our low-drama daily life, I’m not sure what they heard. Having a low-drama daily life is a good idea in any case.

When it comes to control of people, you can’t really have it, but it is wonderful and sometimes crucial to have people stop when you yell stop. Playing games where they have to follow directions and procedures might help everyone with a smidge more self control.

Possible fires necessitate fire drills, possible bears necessitate bear drills, but don’t make everything a drill. It’s up to you to remember: your preferences are generally not an emergency, even when those preferences feel super important. You will wear out your authority sooner than you think.

You have to pick your battles, because you don’t get to pick your emergencies.

All the energy you put into control efforts could be put to better use, like enjoying the company of your kids or listening to their loopy stories like an existential detective.

Love,
yermom

I’m not going anywhere, but I should mention that you can subscribe to my Substack for parenting essays.

Also my new book, Don’t Eat Your Children, will be coming out in November (2024) and I’m selecting ARC readers right this very minute and into the near future. Comment or email mom@askyermom.com to get on the list. Be cautious–my editor was triggered and my free proofreader died. If you are a free proofreader, you will live forever in my heart!!