In Which The Maven Admits to Crossing the Line

A couple of weeks ago I did something I swore I would never, ever do: I spanked one of my children.

I don't think parents who use corporal punishment are bad parents, or that they don't know what they're doing. It's just that I 've always maintained that raising my hand is not how I want to raise my boys, because, as far as I'm concerned, kids can be brought up very well without ever having to physically harm them.

But this isn't the first time I've done something I vowed never to do. That train of misconception started with 'I'll never breasfeed/co-sleep/stay-at-home' and continued along the railway line with memorable quotes like 'we have a strict no toy weapons policy at our house because I believe you can teach your children to be peaceful through example' and 'my child will never behave like that in a grocery store'.

But I held strong to having a spank-free household. It just wasn't something we were going to do, ever. And for twelve-and-a-half years I successfully resisted the occasional urge to put hand to bottom.

Until, one day, Gutsy crossed the line in such a way that I didn't see any other option.

I won't go into gory details because I don't want to lay down a story that will justify what I did. Suffice to say that there was some very serious defiance going on involving screaming, throwing, banging, threatening and physically harming me. An absolutely impressive display of emotion!
As a drama queen myself, I have to appreciate the effort that went into that fit. It was rather lengendary, really, and looking back I would have to give him a score of 9.8: Very strong presentation, good verbalization of his anger, shock value, and interesting use of props. If there were an olympic tantrum competition he would have had a good shot at the gold.

I tried just about everything I could think of, from attempting to talk him down, to giving him a time-out, to taking away priviledges. And all the while it got worse and worse and worse. More and more violent, more and more dangerous for both of us, more and more terrifying for his brothers. Finally, having exhausted anything my stressed-out mind could think of, I put him over my knee.

And it did absolutely nothing to solve the problem. (And please don't waste your time sending me emails and comments about how I didn't do it right. I'm not looking for a how-to or a FAQ on corporal punishment. This was a one-time deal. Great Big Maven's Spanking Outlet Store has permanently closed.)

In the end, what ended the fit was me telling him I was giving up and going outside for a breather. When he followed me into the backyard a few minutes later and found me softly crying, he melted and we both cried together.

That was the beginning of the end of all conventional discipline methods with Gutsy. The straw that broke the camel's back. The spank that broke both our hearts.

(See the drama queen coming out? He comes by it honestly.)

After doing a bit of research while he was busily camping with Intrepid and Geekster, I came across a book called The Explosive Child.

Is there any better way to describe Gutsy the gremlin? I think not. It even has a sad little boy on the cover with a bomb for a head, which is rather morbid and disturbing and yet so very true of how Gutsy feels after an emotional explosion.

What I've read so far has been very enlightening: the parts of the brain that control a child's ability to be flexible in routines and transitions, and to be able to control frustration levels, are in the same location as where issues like OCD and ADHD seem to crop up (I'm not a big fan of labelling children and neither is the author, but he wanted to point out that the brain scans are similar).

The turning point for me was understanding that Gutsy does not act out like this on purpose. He has a strong desire to please (we see this when he's calm) and wants to do better, he just can't. He doesn't know how. His ability to control himself in stressful situations is underdeveloped for his age. The author equates it to having a learning disability of sorts. You can't teach a child like this using time-outs and sticker charts, removing priviledges or, as I've newly discovered, spanking. It's a whole new ballgame.

Once I discovered that Gutsy has no more control over losing his shit than I do over being incredibly awesome, I felt a lot better. I think I might be able to start liking him more again. Oh, sure, I love him tremendously, horns and all, but I don't necessarily like being held hostage by his behaviour.

It's surprising to me that my children aren't perfect. I mean, didn't they come from me? But what surprises me more is the sadness I've been feeling over not being a good mother to Gutsy. I feel like I've failed him in so many ways despite my best efforts. Spanking him when I swore I wouldn't didn't help my mama self-esteem, either.

The rest of the book - the part I haven't read yet - is all about how to retrain the brain and usher it into a new era of self-control. I'm all about self-control; he obviously didn't get that problem from me. I mean, that's why I'm a skinny social drinker.

Damn it!

I hope this works. If it doesn't I may just put on my new running shoes and take off for the hills. Maybe I'll be adopted by a pack of wolves and can hunt with them.... Until they discover I'm a vegetarian wuss and devour me. Do you suppose spanking a wolf woud make it stop biting?

The Incredible Mr. Spoon

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.