This is a story that must be told.

As pretty much everyone knows, I don't spank the gremlins. I never have and I never will. I have my reasons and I think they're good ones. Even friends who spank seem to understand and respect why Geekster and I don't. And that's good, because otherwise I would have to use my Crabby Mommy Powers on them. Nobody wants me to use those; just ask the boys.

In turn, I don't judge them for spanking. That's pretty nice of me, really. I mean, I could be judgmental and not include them in the inner circle of coolness (which is the circle surrounding the entourage), and instead I embrace them and accept them, differences in parenting and all.

In fact, I used to shake my finger at the naughty corporal punishment users, sticking my (fairly large) nose up in the air, full of haughtiness and tsk-tsking. I would find out early in the game if someone was an evil spanker and file them in the acquaintances folder. 'Only bad parents spank,' I would declare. 'Their children live in fear and I don't want to be a part of that.'

Rumour has it that, one day, the Spankers Coalition got together and brainstormed over how to get me to be friends with their members. How could they pursuade me to soften to my ways, as I had been known to have the ability to smell bum-smacker from one hundred yards away?

After much deliberating, they trained a small group of special agents to infiltrate the inner circle. They chose nice, friendly parents with big smiles and a good sense of humour and a love of coffee and coffee-related beverages. They chose children who didn't look like they were traumatized plane crash survivors, who didn't wince when their parents' hands entered their personal space bubble. In short, they were nothing like I had imagined Evil Spankers of the Spanker Coalition to be like. So I let them in, thinking they were very much like me in all my parenting perfection.

I was blindsided by their normalcy. And, when the truth came out that they were indeed those-who-shall-not-be-named, I was shocked. They didn't even feel the need to debate their discipline choices with me! Instead, they were sensible and open. They explained why they did what they did, but not to convince me to do the same and not in a condescending way. What amazing training! I had no choice but to amend the inner circle guidelines and let them in.

One such spanker - a good friend, a mom to two boys and a blog stalker of mine - told me a story I just had to share. She did ask, however, that I not use her name, as she does not care to be stoned with insults from the non-spanking crowd. She understands that not everyone's inner circle has been infiltrated by her evil spanking cohorts. She also gets that I've evolved to a new level of non-judgmentalness (emphasis on the "mental" part) a little ahead of the curve because, well, I'm The Maven.

In an attempt to enhance the discipline experience, Friend decided she would draw an angry face on a wooden spoon. She called it, quite originally, Mister Spoon.

Mr. Spoon looked mean. He looked like he could hurt you. He looked like a guy you didn't want to mess around with. She waved Mr. Spoon around in such a way that fear would be instilled in her young boys, as the thought alone of coming into contact with Mr. Spoon would be enough to force good behaviour.

One day she was making soup, stirring the red tomato base with a wooden spoon. Suddenly, she noticed a green trail following in the utensil's wake.

Pulling the spoon out, she saw the faintest remains of a child-drawn face in green marker. Her boys had apparently made Mr. Spoon a friend, and she had drowned it in her now multicoloured soup.

Her children began sneaking off with Mr. Spoon and playing games with him. He turned their duo into a trio, staring in that disapproving marker face as they pretended to be dinosaurs and played with trucks.

They even fought over who got to sleep with Mr. Spoon. On more than one occasion, she found the scary/mean utensil snuggled in someone's arm under the covers.

Obviously, these are traumatized children living in fear. Isn't it obvious how right I was about those spanking families?

Mr. Spoon became a failed experiment, and the idea of wooden kitchen spoons being used to keep the boys in line was abandoned completely.

The moral of this story? No idea. Why do you expect a moral? Are you trying to make me work? Why would you do that? It's Monday, for crying out loud. I'm blogging, isn't that good enough?

Oh, alright fine: The moral of the story is that you shouldn't draw faces on wooden spoons. It's wrong on many levels: it will encourage fighting, your kids will develop unhealthy relationships with other inanimate objects, and they will eventually get in the van with the creepy, angry-faced stranger who looks a lot like their friend, Mr. Spoon.

I have no moral when it comes to spanking. I'm not judging, remember? Stop trying to make this a debate, already. I'm going to see Coldplay in a few hours (!!!!!) and I don't have time to argue. Now I must go and make myself look pretty for Chris Martin.