Discipline?

I know that spanking is a pretty controversial topic with some people. So I'm not going to say that you have to do it or you're a horrible parent, or if you do it you're an abusive mom or dad. This blog has never been about me telling other people how to raise their kids, but my own (mis)adventures in raising mine. With that said, we - my wife and I - believe in spanking.

Spanking gets a bad reputation, in my opinion. Mostly because of the parents who, like my own, love to "spank" their kids with anything they can get their hands on. My mother actually once ordered a couple of leather strips (from some Nazi ran organization no doubt) called "The Rod" and the sole intent of this product was so that you no longer had to reach for a yard stick, wire fly-swatter, a horse whip, a frying pan, or whatever else you could get your hands on in order to leave welts on your children. I haven't looked it up, but I hope that company burned to the ground.

I know my butt often did, no thanks to them.

My dad's philosophy was something a little different. He seemed to think that every item in your wardrobe must have a secondary purpose rather than just covering your nakedness. For instance, a shirt with long sleeves doubled as a napkin. Pants had pockets, therefore they must also be used for storage of items from work (in his case, wire ties and screws). Your belt was not only intended to hold your pants up, it was also a judge's gavel used slam home the verdict of guilty upon your son or daughter's rump.

Now that you know a little bit of my background on the topic of spanking, please note that I have honed this philosophy down quite a bit. In fact, were my parent's philosophy an oak tree, mine is toothpick.

I say this because, for one, my daughter does not need a spanking to know that she's done wrong. Often times, punishment is a stern look from me that sends her to whaling cries that would cause others to believe she is in physical pain. If I talk sternly to her, she knows she's made a big mistake. Spanking is, always, reserved for directly rebellious activities and even then its a small flick of the wrist and a smack on the bottom. I've never used my belt, and I don't intend to. Of course, she's almost two and there may come a day where that line is tested, but I don't really think that will be an issue. You raise up a child in the way they should go and when they're older, they don't depart from it. Right?

As a coworker of mine once said, and keep in mind I work in the juvenile probation system, "Parents who don't spank their kids have kids who grow up to be on our caseload."

I believe this. I'm not saying you have to beat your kids, not by any means. I certainly don't beat mine and never intend to. But I think that we must, as parents, let our kids know there is a certain law they must follow, there are certain expectations of them. Not to become doctors and lawyers and get all A's on every report card, but they are being raised to be decent human beings and we expect that out of them.

The whole concept of spanking is, as I said, controversial. Maybe just a stern word from you is enough to keep your kid in line. Maybe a light swat on the diaper will work. I don't know, because your kid is yours.

But discipline is something younger generations are lacking and I, for one, want to make sure my kid isn't the one on probation in twelve years for stealing, assault, or one of the other breakings of the law juveniles tend to do.

The key is, though, to remember that every kid is different. Every parent is different. Not every kid needs swatted and some may need it more than others, but you have to know where the limit is and where to draw the line. Otherwise you're just a bully and not a parent.

You also have to remember, you're their mom or their dad. You're not their buddy.

I mean, if I messed my pants, I certainly wouldn't call my friends and expect them to come clean me up.

Ketchup Hair

I'm not sure about my daughter's eating habits. Is it because she seriously doesn't know how to keep her hair out of her food, or because she struggles to keep her food out of her hair?

Here's what I'm talking about: I give her something that has ketchup and ketchup will inevitably end up in her hair. If I give her a peanut butter sandwich - with very light peanut butter, mind you - that peanut butter will coat pigtails by the time she's done eating.

I would understand if she had a mustache. Who has a mustache and doesn't get food in their facial hair? Or a bear? I mean, I get that. I can relate to that.

But no. No facial hair. No mustache, no beard, no goatee, not even sideburns. Which, I guess is a good thing considering she's almost two years old and a girl. I mean, I know girls who have facial hair and life is cruel to them - as are fellow students in their school (guilty of being mean to those girls myself in my younger years... or last week).

I digress.

We've tried everything from putting her hair into a pony-tail, pig tails, pulling back her bangs, and everything else except shaving her head.

So the solution, at least for today, is to just not use ketchup.

Except, I gave her bananas and now they're in her bangs.

Sing-a-long With Evie

One of the interesting things I've noticed about my daughter is her love of television. Its not completely unhealthy or anything, its not like every time the t.v. is on she becomes a complete zombie. She simply becomes a husk of a person when the show is something of interest to her.

Case in point: Spongebob Squarepants.

Personally, I would rather she never watched this show. I recently read an article that said that it can actually cause kids to have attention deficit disorder (or A.D.D.), and as I have an incredibly short attention span myself, I don't wish that upon my kid, either.

But, as it happens, she's watched it. We let her watch it before I read the article. One day, after this creeping fear set in, we were letting her watch Nickelodeon and Spongebob came on before I had a chance to change the channel. The theme song was playing and I noticed Evelyn was singing along with the theme song.

Singing. With. The Song.

Except the lyrics go something like, "Who lives in a pineapple under the sea? SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS!!!"

Evie, on the other hand, singings, "Bob bob bob BOB BOB BOB bob!"

I don't know, I just thought it was a cute story to pass along to anyone who reads this.

Limitations

Sometimes, as a parent, you have to realize that there are just some things you can't do. My dad used to say, "I can fix anything but a broken heart." That was a very poetic lie. While a very gifted electrician, my dad couldn't even oil my baseball glove properly. He'd always take it to my grandpa - his dad - to get the job done right. I have to hand it to the old man, even if he won't admit it openly himself, he knew when something was beyond him.

Lately, I find myself wondering what the future holds for me. Not "me" as in "me and my family," but myself. The solo act, not the group. Plenty of opportunities are now spread out before me. I could drop probation and go back into the ministry, which is something I want to do very badly. I could stay in probation and stay at the same position I'm in, which would lead to insanity on my part because its such an undervalued job - even by my colleagues - that it often leads to my just wanting to stay home and hide under my covers in depression. If I switched to casework, sure I could have a normal nine to five and Monday through Friday schedule, but then our daycare bill skyrockets and I'd basically be giving up on my own personal dreams.

I'd be throwing in the towel on something I worked hard for. My credentials, my skills as a pastor and preacher, which I don't think are all that shabby - though one year in youth ministry has left me with enough doubts to fill a swimming pool.

Not the plastic kiddie pool you buy every summer at Wal-Mart, either. I'm talking Michael-Phelps-practices-here-pool.

But I want to go back.

I know that may be selfish. I'm certainly not going to make the same amount of money I make here in Indianapolis, we'd probably have to move pretty far, and there's a slight chance that things could turn out to be pretty rough for a while when my wife has to find a new job and start all over there.

Its a pretty scary concept, starting over. We've decided we're not too thrilled on our kids growing up in this city. Not that people we know have kids who have turned out horrible, its just that when you work in a job that constantly exposes you to the grimy under-belly of a city, you tend to want to get as far away from it as possible.

The fact is, wherever we go, if it is where God wants us, I have to believe He'll take care of us. Call it faith or call it religious overzealousness if you want, either way I have to believe it.

I believe that at some point in every man's life he is forced to walk the stairs in an imaginary castle he has built for himself inside his mind. The stairs lead to a balcony from which he is able to gaze out upon the kingdom he has built for himself. Either he stairs out in wonder and awe, or hangs his head to weep.

There will be no weeping when I'm done climbing the stairs. I have my limitations but I also have my faith. I have to cling to that at times as any shipwrecked sailor may grab at driftwood. This can't be it for me.

This can't be it for my family.

Its not that we're so incredibly unhappy here. When we recently listed the pros and cons of staying and leaving, we realized we were okay staying in Indianapolis.

Just okay.

I justify my desire to leave my current job by saying to myself, and to my wife, that it would probably be better for Evie and kids to be named later, that leaving this city would be what's best for our family. We're both from small towns and living in the city isn't something we are really, completely sold on. Though the convenience of having a McDonald's nearby anytime you get a little hungry is convenient, its also led to my recently mentioned fatness. I think I'm fair in saying it would be better for our kids, to be honest, and my wife agrees.

Its just difficult giving up what is comfortable; what is safe.

Lately, the thought of me being my own worst enemy has plagued me. I've spent the last few months telling myself that nobody can stop me but me. The problem is, I'm starting to wonder if my true limitation - the one thing holding me back - is nothing less than myself. My fear of change, of being uncomfortable for a while.

The fact is, simply, nobody limits you but you, and while I am worried about what happens to me, whatever decisions I make impacts my family. The minute I told the pastor "I do" and became part of a couple, I ceased being "me" and started being "we."

If I live my life by always following the comfortable road, my daughter will grow up having a coward for a father. I can't let that happen. I have to think about what's best for all of us and not just myself.

That's what it means to be a dad. Not always focusing on what's easy, and not always focusing on what you want for yourself, but what's best for your family.

Okay, I guess the rant is over.

Favorite Foods

Evelyn loves eating. I'm sure she gets that from me. Today I made her a homemade pizza roll-up. I don't know if that's what its official term would be, and I realize I'm not Chef Ramsey whippin' up anything original.

All I did was take some shredded mozzarella cheese, a few turkey pepperoni slices, and wrapped it all up in a wheat tortilla, then stuck it in a microwave for about 25 seconds, and re-wrapped it all so that nothing could fall out.

She loved it.

It got me to thinking of some of her other favorite foods. The roll-up today was inspired by the cheese roll-ups at Taco Bell, which she loves (as established by a previous blog). Happy meals are okay, but not the chicken nuggets so much as the fries. She likes a hamburger, but not the beef part.

When we were eating Chinese every Friday, the chicken nuggets there were her favorite, until I introduced her to the sugary donuts. Then it was game over, next restaurant, because she's not eating anything until she gets her little cake.

Subway, it appears, also has a favorite dish for my daughter, but its not whatever you buy her. She wants to eat my sandwich or my wife's. The chips and the salsa at On the Border are some of her favorite things in the world. Which surprises me because that stuff is hot.

I could go on and on, because as I said, she has a lot of favorite foods.

Human Hurricane

We recently changed Evelyn's crib into a toddler-sized bed. The devastation has been apocalyptic.

Every morning she wakes up and since we have a gate on her door so she won't fall down the stairs, my daughter decides to play in her room.

By play I mean destroy, kill, destroy.

A week ago, her room looked like the neatest, cleanest place in our home. After one day of her new bed and being allowed to roam freely within it, it looked like a small pack of wolves had run through. After three days, a herd of dinosaurs. After about a week of this, it looks like the valley of Megiddo will one day.

If you don't get that reference, take a class in eschatology.

Anyway, its been pretty bad.

Today, for instance, she figured out how to climb up the side of her dresser and successfully pulled her piggy bank down on top of her, along with several pictures that were neatly framed up on the top of this chest of drawers.

Of course, I was still preparing for work, but at the sound of this sonic boom I went rushing into the child's - dare we still call it a room at this point?

There she sat upon the floor, just browsing through the fallen debris, searching for whatever treasure she may have unearthed.

Someday soon, and believe me when I say its coming, she's going to learn the meaning of "clean your room."

Language Barrier

Sometimes I hate this. I'm not going to lie. My daughter has a hard time talking and gets frustrated when I have no clue what she's saying.

I give to you exhibit A: Lunch today.

After eating about eight chicken nuggets (Wal-Mart brand, and yeah, we're not only cheap we enjoy them) she brought me her bowl and grunted out a few short commands. I took this to mean she wanted something to drink because, in my absent-mindedness I had forgotten to give her a sippy-cup of milk like I normally do. Naturally, I poured some cold 1% into one of her cups.

You'd think I'd stabbed Elmo. She began to cry and push the cup away. This was frustrating me now, as much as it was her. I offered her juice. No dice. Offered her water and got a resounding "uh uh!" and more shrieks and weeps.

Finally, I realized she was still hungry, so I fixed her some fruit and animal crackers. She's now sitting on the couch happy as can be as if nothing just happened and she didn't just subject me to the torture of self-second-guessing and wondering if I'm about to do something that causes her demise.

I'm not sure when the speech therapy starts, but I hope its soon. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, because I try to work with her on words, enunciation, and just recognizing things, but its very trying to my patience when she doesn't seem interested at all.

Its not like she's a mute or anything. When I gave her the food she said, "Thank you," very clearly. I think she just struggles to express herself with what she's thinking. Whereas, "thank you" may just be an automated response she's learned to perform when she receives something.

I don't know. It just seems like there's a language barrier between me and my daughter and its frustrating.

Is this what having a teenager is like?