A New Sheriff In Town

I just swatted my son. He rubbed his hiney, scowled, and finally did what I've been asking, begging, pleading, demanding of him. I don't even remember what it was now. But it's been that way between the two of us all day long. I don't mean the swatting, or spanking as some call it, although the incident I'm referring to was a definite swat as opposed to spanking. I mean he and I've been dancing this same dance over and over and over..... Well, you get the point. Anyway, that got me to thinking.

I've always tried to reserve swatting for attention grabbing situations. Say, one of the babes was just having a melt down and all other attempts to get through to the distraught babe had failed, then a swift swat to the hiney would be in order. You know what I mean, a swat of just enough magnitude to get through to them in order to employ other means of distraction or discipline.

Before I go any further, because I can only imagine the kind of email I'm going to receive regarding this topic, I don't judge on how you want to raise your child. He/she is your child and it's your place to decide how best to do that. Not mine. Again, I don't judge. It didn't take me very long into parenthood to realize all those preconceived, parental guidance handbook, warm and fuzzy prenatal intentions aren't always practical. I've learned that it takes a wide and wild mix of creative efforts in order to get the point across and the babe back in line.

Most often I stick to time outs by way of counting. It's kind of a 1-2-3 strikes and you're out sort of deal. It's great for "stop behaviors". When practiced consistently it's great for stopping whatever it is you want stopped. I'm learning that for "start behaviors" it's less effective. I find myself resorting to exhortion more than not when I want Firstborn to "start" something. I really dislike this and am open to suggestions if you've got any.

Oh, and when I say most often I stick to time outs, I mean before we moved. With all the chaos of back and forth trips to Alabama before our move, packing, parenting, and the move itself I became lax. I became inconsistent. I became ineffective.

To make matters worse Hubbs is working even crazier hours than his prior job. He's finally back in town from training, but we only see him a few minutes each day. No joke, just a few minutes. Firstborn is having an extremely difficult time with this. Every fourth sentence out of his mouth is, "I miss Daddy".

You've got a mommy with a splitting headache at the end of a long, long day and you mix in a three year old boy displaying all behaviors from acting out for attention, the chaos of a move, and inconsistent discipline and my friends, you've got yourself a recipe for disaster.

Okay, maybe not a disaster, but it certainly wasn't my best moment. And I could see it in his eyes. Everything about that look said, "Who are you and what have you done with my Mommy."

Arguably, I could have given him a similar look.

He and I've become lost in all, well, frankly, all of "this". It's time I got back on track. And that's my aim. Know this kid. Tomorrow, I'm bringing my "A game". I'm buckling down and bringing a new sheriff to town. There'll be counting and time outs the likes of which he's never seen. Firstborn won't know what hit him. And, this time it won't be me.

Wait. What's tomorrow? That's right! Hubby's off tomorrow! Heck, they're all his while I'm off to the market and the rest of my mommy errands. Guess tomorrow's your lucky day, cowboy!

Letters To Santa

We've moved to a small town where the local newspaper still reserves a section during the holidays to print letters to Santa Claus. I took it upon myself to write on behalf of my children and thought I would share it with you.

The letter from Firstborn is as follows:

Dear Santa,

I've been a very good boy with only a few minor infractions. If you receive any letters stating otherwise please disregard them. It seems that no matter how hard one tries to be good there will always be someone to dispute your claims.

The following is a short list of suggestions of what I would like for Christmas. Of course, I'm always open to suggestions and surprises.

a little boy friendly digital camera

firetruck

Take and Play Thomas of Misty Island

a rather large giraffe

a puppy dog Pillow Pet just like my cousin's

games

books, lots and lots of books, please

three new flashlights

a fast racing car with horns on it

Santa, please don't forget about my little sister, Secondborn. Ordinarily I wouldn't care if she got presents or not, but if you don't bring her anything then she's just gonna want to play with my things.

With as much love, goodness, and honesty a three year old boy's heart can bear,

Firstborn

And the letter from Secondborn:

Dear Santa Claus,

Forgive me for what I'm about to say. I've not always been what you might call a good little girl.

Sometimes I've been a naughty little girl.

However, I maintain that I was only doing what comes naturally to a highly spirited and independent girl.

If you're willing to overlook my scaling the living room blinds, continually emptying my dresser drawers of all contents, a bit of indoor gardening, and other minor incidents, please give my Christmas list some consideration. Please keep in mind that my frank honesty should warrant at least a few presents under the tree.

a camera

stuffed llama

dollie

a chair just my size

Weeble Wobbles

lots and lots of books

And, Santa, I'm convinced my older brother is to blame for much of my behavior. Just ask the elves who've been assigned to keep an eye on us. They'll tell you the real story.

Hugs and sticky kisses,

Secondborn

Where I Am

Hi, remember me, the one who promised to never leave your side and always tell you the truth? I know I've been absent for over two months now, and I hate to be that blogger who apologizes for blog neglect, but I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I'm back though, and I've got more to confess than ever before.

You see we moved. Yeah, yeah, I know I've spun this story before, but this time it's different. Really.

It all started in August when my mom died. And about that same time my dad was diagnosed with kidney cancer. Somewhere in between all of this my husband was interviewing for executive chef positions with several different restaurants near my hometown. After accepting an offer the packing began. And the chaos.

Secondborn decided then was as good as any to finally begin walking at sixteen months. The oncologist decided Dad had to have a kidney removed. There was the "kidney going away" party we threw for him followed a week later by the actually surgery. And less than a week after that, only a day before Thanksgiving, me and my circus moved in with him.

After placing most of our belongings into storage while staying with my dad for a few months, Hubby had to go out of town for three weeks for training. Fortunately, it was close enough he could drive home on weekends, but it still proved a trying time for all of us. Firstborn especially had a difficult time with this and the move. Yesterday was Christmas and he still says daily, "I wanna go home".

And speaking of Christmas, the stomach flu was not mentioned on anyone's wish list, yet we all got more than we ever wanted of it. That's okay, we still managed to make the most of it. The kids were thrilled with all the loot Santa brought. Hubby was mildly impressed, but it was a miracle he was even out of bed. And, me, I'm grateful we could all be together enjoying one of the rare white Christmases Alabama has had to offer. Oh, did I mention Hubbs got me a new Macbook Pro? So, no more excuses! Posting blogs should be a lot easier now that I don't have to hole up in the office while the kids go unsupervised.

Once more, I offer my most humble and "Oh, I feel like crap 'cause I've not written anything in ages" apology.