Chamber

Joe has learned a Bad Word.  He flings it at a sibling who won't share; he spits it out with the utmost scorn when I tell him to do something he's not up for.

The word?  Chamber.  I don't know where he got the idea that chamber is an obscenity, but he is using it as such with glee.  It's catching on with his brothers, too.

I was going to write this as a funny post, about how hard it was to keep a straight face when he hurled it at me.  "You need to speak more respectfully than that, Joe," I would say, but it was hard to take him too seriously.  C'mon, chamber?

But I'm not laughing at the moment.  I've had a few rough mothering days in a row, and I'm feeling discouraged.  I'm asking myself again: how strict do I need to be? how much do I let slide?

It was a blessing, although I didn't see it that way at the time, that my first son's big behavior issue was aggression.  If it had been mouthiness, or defiance, or any number of other things, it would have been harder to tune out my mother when she said, "That boy needs a smack on his behind."  Since the issue was aggression, though, it was easy.  I wasn't going to hit a kid who needed to learn not to hit.  I wasn't going to teach him that the way to deal with hitting was to hit back harder.  And I hoped, absurdly idealistic as it seemed then, that he would learn not to hit because hitting is wrong -- not because other people hurt you if you hit them.

[brief interruption -- summoned upstairs to deal with a teary Marty.  "Mom, he's calling me a chamber!"]

Anyway:  I wanted my son to be governed by love of what is right more than by fear of what is wrong.

Rudeness is another instance where the best thing to do is obvious. "I'M YELLING AT YOU FOR SPEAKING SO DISRESPECTFULLY TO ME" just doesn't make sense. 

On a good day, I offer a civil reminder about my expectations.  A child who doesn't change his tune can wait in his room until he's ready to speak kindly.  For particularly egregious offenses, he'll need to show his willingness to contribute to a peaceful, smoothly operating household by taking care of a chore that's not his responsibility. (Usually it's something a little tricky or a little icky.  It needs to be done cheerfully or we start over.)

I'm having a string of bad days, though.

Yesterday I was sitting at the pool with a friend in a similar spot.  "Maybe we should have been reading the Pearls all along," I said glumly.  (Can't find an easy link and am short on minutes -- the Pearls (whom I haven't read, so feel free to let me know if I'm misstating their position) advocate using corporal punishment early and often.)

It's so uncertain, this business of raising children.  I've never wanted so badly to do something right, and I simply can't know how it's going to turn out.  Keep plugging, keep praying, I guess.  But boy, I am wishing for a magic wand today.

Yesterday my oldest said, "I've set myself a goal to read 900 pages in two days and I'm almost there!"  This morning my second son said, "Hey, Joe, we jumped off the diving board! Give me a high five!"  I see little glimpses of self-discipline, of cooperativeness and fraternal love.

I'm still feeling frustrated, though -- so much so that it almost makes me want to say chamber.