I have never once wanted to spank my children…during a state of calm or enlightenment. Instead, the scene usually plays out something like this: We’re an hour past bedtime (likely my fault for trying to cram in just one more errand, outing, or game), and I’m trying to get the girls bathed, teeth brushed, pjs on, stories read, songs sang and prayers recited in 20 minutes. My patience is past waning; we’re likely in the deficit category at this point, because I have at least 26 things I need to do before I can go to bed, which we all know can’t happen until the children are there first. My daughters, awake now only by the grace of fumes from the adrenalin rush that has kicked in to thwart exhaustion, are jumping on the bed, giddy and now totally amused by tossing their bears and babies from one side of the room to the other. Their listening ears have long since stopped working, and it’s as if I am completely invisible and mute even as I stand in the middle of their room bellowing orders. This is when the urge to spank sets in.
That “I’ll show them who’s boss” voice starts to chime in my head. I may even begin to enumerate internally all the things I have done and sacrifices I have made to create yet another perfectly balanced day in their preschool lives. Which, they have absolutely no understanding of, nor should they. The tension that I can now feel building in my neck and shoulders is matched only by the heaviness of my eyelids now threatening to close. Anger is mounting, and I’m in search of a quick fix to alter the situation. A swift smack to the bottom will surely teach them, right? Yes it would, but what and at what cost?
You see, I love words. They are powerful tools that influence beyond their silence. But so are actions. Children are so intuitive, bright, and open to remember every experience, especially the ones we want them to forget. Lashing out in a fit of virtual rage will most certainly leave a lasting impression, one that they are likely to replicate with each other and others around them. My lashing out screams: I’m angry and frustrated, so I’ll act out. I want to influence behavior so I’ll intimidate physically and bully those who are weaker than me into submission. I want and need to have a better way.
In my own self-described cauldron of hostile feelings and frustration, I would never want to make any decision, much less one that impressionable three-year-olds are watching and soaking in. I was spanked (and in all fairness to my parents it was once in my entire life- Superbowl Sunday- a house full of people, and parents whose frustration levels probably mirrored my own), my husband was spanked, many of my friends were spanked, and we all turned out fine. We’re well-educated, productive, contributing members of society, who are still close with our parents, but so are others who weren’t. In every way possible I want to build my children up, toughen their skin without making them callous. And I don’t get the sense that spanking them meshes with these goals. Conversely, I think it would in some way- perhaps in a minute way- break them down or at least chip away at them.
I must also admit, at the height of my own frustration- kids bickering, throwing tantrums, not following a single direction- there is something powerful about being in total control of my actions. About letting my emotion of incomparable love for my daughters fuse with logic that intuitively says I cannot teach reasoning and tolerance mid strike. Perhaps I’m thinking too deeply, but being a mother makes me question everything, and parenting twins make me do it twice as much. Almost every word I say, gesture I make, or action I carry out is eventually (and sometimes immediately) replicated in my daughters’ interaction with each other. Now that’s a lot of pressure, but I think (and hope and pray) I’m up for the challenge.
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