Mama done called you a naughty young bird.
And if that naughty bird doesn’t mind,
Mama says on hot sauce he must dine.
If that hot sauce makes him sick,
Mama may just smack him a lick.
If that smack should make him cower,
No problem, Mama will throw him in an ice cold shower.
There is a reason pond scum who harm children are the most reviled population in the prison system. Why don’t you go squirt some Tabasco sauce in the mouth of a big, scary badass biker dude Mrs. Beagley? Throw someone your own size in an ice cold shower in Alaska in January? Cowards who prey on children, wow, please God please, tell me there is a special place in hell where they will have eternal reservations. This child is too difficult and she doesn’t know how to handle him? There are resources woman. Pick up the phone… seek help. It is there. Call the school, call a church, anything other than destroying this little boy’s psyche for life.
in which case, the stylist should face charges as well. It’s bad enough to have more kids than you can handle because you can’t keep your legs closed, but to go out in the world and acquire them? Don’t you think that little boy may not be so darn thrilled with the arrangement he finds himself in, as well? What option does a small person have? Can he call the airline and book a flight directly to hell in order to avoid a childhood spent with you? Sadly, no. Can he get in the car and drive…..um, where? Does he have friends with power, who can pull strings to get him removed from this hell house? Sadly, no. Does he know any politicians who he can ask, “Hey, Senator, my adopted family is trying to turn me into a serial killer in twenty years time; think you can get me one of those intern gigs at the White House”? Sadly, no.
Earth to Jessica, Susan Smith, Andrea Yates…there are more creative ways to get your child’s attention than brutalizing them. Granted no mom is June Cleaver except on paper. I’m sure my 17-year-old will seek therapy in the future because I did not provide him with a 1966 Mustang on his 16th birthday, still will not buy him the new Camaro convertible he is eyeing, will not spring for a $1500 brand new rental unit when he goes to college in August, and still enforce a 1AM weekend curfew in his senior year.
Each of our children is unique, and as such, sometimes the most effective deterrents or punishments are the ones specifically tailored to that child’s personality. My son NEVER, EVER stopped talking unless he was asleep. His world required constant observation accompanied by an ongoing narrative. I came to dread the weekly phone calls from his teachers calling for yet another conference to discuss his babbling. By third grade he had at least learned to speak under his breath, yet the narrative still never ceased. I knew I had to come up with a creative way to grab his attention, when, after being grounded for some infraction for several days, he cheerfully announced that he really liked being grounded because he got to spend all day with Mommy.
Since necessity is the mother of invention, I came up with what I deemed “The Bubble of Silence”. Whenever his life course needed a redirect, I would use my index finger to outline a giant invisible bubble around me and tell him that no sound could enter or exit that bubble. I pretended to hear nothing that he uttered, and refused to engage in any conversation with him. After about half an hour, he was usually so desperate for my attention, he would acknowledge the error of his ways and off we’d go, happy as two clams, until the next time. Unfortunately, since he is now a monosyllabic teenager, this “Bubble” solution no longer works.
I will never forget a Sunday when he was about six years old. It was his day to clean up his very tiny bedroom, and as he looked down at the approximately 1000 Bionicle pieces scattered all over the room his little lip began to quiver. I assured him that it probably wouldn’t take more than 30 minutes to pick up and then he’d be free to enjoy the rest of the day. I went to another floor of the house and about an hour later heard some odd sounds coming from his room. Curious, I crept down the stairs. He was in his room, very slowly and purposely picking up his toys, one agonizingly slow piece at a time, and wailing, “Why God…why me? Why am I such a poor, poor little boy? Why God? Why you make me clean my room? I’m just a very little boy, a poor, poor little boy”. It was side-splittingly funny, because as a classic Leo, he is prone to great drama, so his wails for God’s mercy were quite heart wrenching and convincing.
Ladies, don’t just assume that because you’re female motherhood is right for you. If you aren’t willing to sacrifice all your time, energy, and needs for the next two decades, this may not be the job for you. If you’re not willing to have eagerly awaited events, private moments, and vacations, postponed or forfeited forever, due to your child’s accident, illness, or crisis, this job may not be for you. If you can’t guarantee you will provide that child with a lifetime foundation of utter, absolute, and complete trust, this job may not be for you.
Jessica Beagley, you need to be put into something a whole lot worse than “A Bubble of Silence”. Women like you make motherhood a dirty word.