Little Kid, Big Trouble

Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop prompt: Write about a time you got in BIG trouble when you were a child.


Someone had ratted us out. Someone broke under pressure and told an ADULT what we had done.

I was in big trouble. For the first time in my life. Big trouble.

This kind of stuff didn’t happen to me. It happened to my brother. How would I live through it? The shame was overwhelming.

In a huff, the P.E. teacher marched us out through the hot, grassy field to the new gym equipment that had been installed at the school. All of us, a small group of fourth graders, hung our heads as we went to fess up to our wrong-doing.

Once we got to the wooden climbing wall, we each had to identify what we had written in ink pen.

The gym teacher barked orders at us. “Before I give you a piece of sand paper, I’ve got to tell you. I don’t think this is going to work. You wrote in INK PEN. If you are not able to get the writing off, you are going to have to PAY A LOT OF MONEY to replace this. This is BRAND NEW equipment that costs a lot of money. You better hope the sand paper works!”

The worst part for me was identifying what I had written. I had the longest, the most foul, and the worst of all the graffiti to claim. At the time I wrote it, I only felt the most clever. Now, I felt the most vile.

Thankfully, the sand paper worked.

Next stop was the front office. We were each taken into the principal’s office one by one, yelled at, and told to call our parents and tell them what we wrote.

I cried the entire time I waited for my turn.

I cried in the principal’s office.

When I got on the phone with my mom, I cried so hard I could not say what I had written.

That night, at home, my brother was very, very happy. So pleased to see the goody-goody sister in trouble. This was a special occasion.

My parents were trying to decide my punishment. Grounded for a week? No TV? No phone?

My dad asked me about what I wrote. “Where did you hear that? Who told you that?!”

“Scott (my brother) told me! It was a punch line to a joke he tells!” I exclaimed. It was the truth, but I was more than happy to try and shift the focus off of me for a moment.

“Go to your room. Both of you!” My dad told both my brother and me. My brother was infuriated to be part of a punishment that was FINALLY supposed to be mine.

To this day, I will never forget the punch line of that joke. I will never forget the whole joke. It is burned in my memory forever.

“I’m a mean mother fucker from Sesame Street gonna kick your ass from street to street.”

No Thank You

We are dealing with some challenging behaviors at home to say the least. Our soon to be three-year-old has decided he’d like to find out what happens when we count to 3. I suppose he really enjoys this scenario because we have had to relive it over and over and over.

He finds out that he is sent to his room for a time out. Instead of going up there to SUFFER, he probably plays to his heart’s content, but who am I to actually think that parents have an upper hand when disciplining?

On a positive note, there is much to be learned from a two-year-old on how to handle requests that you do not wish to comply with.

For example, if you were to tell my son, “Put your toys away,” he would likely say, “No thank you.”

I am thinking I NEED to incorporate this savvy strategy in my own life.

For example, “There is a late meeting scheduled today to prepare for our next meeting.”

I could then say, “No thank you.”

Simple as that!

I am really excited about this. Why didn’t I think of this before? It should be all too easy to incorporate some two-year-old behavior into my work life. Everyone else is doing it, why can’t I?

Now, if only I could get my boss to count to three and then send me to my room. Alone. THEN we’d really be getting somewhere.

You Know About THAT Mom?

I am neurotic enough to frequently obsess over silly things. I have not shared the following with anyone (fearing that it may, in fact, be true). I am plagued by wondering if my breath stinks all the time and nobody is telling me. I chew gum all the time. I conduct basic dental hygiene everyday. There really is no reason for me to have this fear. But I have it. I am a little neurotic.

Something that I am soooo past wondering and fearing is if I am sometimes THAT mom. I have been in public places before or friends’ houses, and I’ll think, “Do people think I am THAT mom?” You know, the mom who lets her child run amok and be loud and cause general chaos. I am totally owning the fact that I am sometimes THAT mom.

Here are some cases in point.

The last time I took Parker to the zoo, I think everyone there knew his name by the time we left. You know, I was THAT mom, constantly calling after him – “Parker! Parker, come here. Here. Over here. Here! PARKER!”

My husband and I had a meeting with a realtor. When the meeting was over and the door was opened, Parker flew out running, and we didn’t see where he went. We started frantically searching for him up and down the halls until we heard the receptionist yelling, “He’s up here! He’s leaving!” (What do you think that receptionist was thinking?)

My son is the one at daycare that will chase your child down and sit on him until he gets his toy back. I found out I am THAT mom who feels secret pride that my son’s not going to take any shit.

I love going to visit at friends’ houses because I can talk with other adults and Parker is so excited about being somewhere else, he keeps himself fairly occupied. But, this means that he can get into all sorts of stuff. And, hey, if he’s quiet and not bothering me, sorry, but I’m not going to be too concerned about it. Even if I know he is in a bathroom, unraveling a brand new roll of toilet paper, I’m thinking, “Hey, that’s safe! He’s quiet!” At least I make him pick it up when he’s done, and then I set it on the counter. Might be messy, but you can still use it!

I just feel like there are so many things to worry about as a mother, there are times you’ve just got to give yourself a break, and think, “Oh, well! Sometimes, I am THAT Mom. So what.”

Do you ever throw up your hands sometimes and think the same thing? Please don’t let me be alone with this confession!

Let Them Live Their Lives!

I remember a quote from Steve Carell in The Office. It goes roughly something like this, “I don’t know why people say it’s so hard to raise kids. Give them some pizza. Give them some candy. Let them live their lives. They’re adults, for Christ’s sake.”

I applied a bit of that wisdom today, and you know what?! It worked! It was fabulous.

My husband and I believe that Parker is getting his two year molars. That means that unexpectedly and at random, our child turns into a writhing, head turning, totally UN-FUN creature.

All was well today until I heard Parker’s shrill scream cut through the monitor only about 30 minutes after he went down for his nap. I could tell by the way he sounded that he was in pain, the poor guy, and he wouldn’t be going back to sleep. I had already given him children’s motrin, and he had been refusing our other teething tricks, so there wasn’t much more I could do for him besides be with him.

Well, he could have given a rat’s ass that I was there to “be with him.” Upon entering the room, he threw his bunny at me from the crib, he started trying to rip down his turtle aquarium, and he banged his head on the mattress. He was one angry dude.

Eventually, he did calm down. I held him and took him downstairs, but he was still just fussy, whiny, and generally discontent. I’m thinking, “Ok, kid. I would love to just chill and play with you, but if you’re not going to even do that, I’ve got things I can do.” I looked over at his Easter basket and saw the never-before-eaten candy bracelet!

I strapped that bracelet on him, showed him how to lick it, and – you’ve got it – he was in heaven.

So, what did I do from there? I let him live his LIFE, for crying out loud!

Parker sat on the couch in a glorious daze, licking and sucking and chewing, and watching Ni-Hao Kai-Lan (Ugh!) for about a half an hour! I was able to leave the room several times WITHOUT any zombie hands and whiny voice following after me. I switched the laundry, organized the kitchen closet, and stripped the bed sheets for washing.

The last time I checked on him, he gave me an empty string and a smile. I threw the string away, put his shoes on, and we headed outside for a wagon ride. He has been my beautiful, lovely bub ever since. Thank you, oh-so-wise, Steve Carell. You are a parenting expert extraordinaire!

Silent but Deadly Discipline

Many of my growing up years were in the 80’s, and man, did I love Bill Cosby. Not only did my whole family love watching the Cosby show every week, we also collected all of Bill Cosby’s stand-up comedy and books. We had cassette tapes of his comedy, and later, when I was in junior and high school, I would try to catch his stand-up shows on cable and tape them on VHS.

Bill is hilarious. He is belly-laugh out-loud rolling on the floor funny. I have thought of his old routines many times as a parent. I have even heeded Bill’s warnings and have chosen to only have one child. He bitches about the frustration of having more than one child, which increases hearing, “MINE! MINE!” and “Stop TOUCHING me!”

Some other favorite moments include children thinking that they’re names are “Dammit” and “Jesus Christ,” when Bill talks about his wife’s face being permanently changed into a scowl after having children, and children singing “Dad is great! Give us the chocolate cake!” during breakfast.

One old stand-up Bill moment sticks in my head even more than others, however. That would be Bill’s wife exclaiming, after she had had ENOUGH, “LET THE BEATINGS BEGIN!”

I did not grow up with beatings or the belt. Thank God, and thank you Mom and Dad. I did have one infamous spanking after running into the street, and my dad was known to snap the belt in a threatening manner, but it never touched my body. My dad would sit in my brother’s room in the dark while we were supposed to be going to sleep (my brother and I slept in the same room when we were children, much to my brother’s annoyance). My dad would be frustrated that we weren’t going to bed. He would drop “silent but deadly” farts on us to express his frustration. When we giggled or groaned, Dad would say, “You think that is bad, we’ll get your mom in here and see what happens.” This is all I remember of heavy-handed parenting when I was growing up.

It seems, nowadays, that the pendulum has swung to the other extreme and parents are afraid to really discipline their children. Parents want their children to have more than they did and be happier than they were. Sometimes this happens in conjunction with unintentionally teaching their children entitlement, so parents must be careful and figure out a balance that includes empathy and love with discipline, limits, and structure.

But it’s just so much fun to yell when you have had ENOUGH, “LET THE BEATINGS BEGIN!” At least it makes my husband and me laugh and then we are in a much better place to deal with annoying behavior that requires smarter discipline. Humor always helps. Always.