My kids do some majorly messed up stuff.
In the past 24 hours, styrofoam has been crumpled up into itty bitty pieces and sprinkled all over a bedroom, then trailed through the house. My kitchen sink has been filled with a combination of cinnamon, salt, steak seasoning, and a raw egg. And the downstairs toilet has been stuffed with nearly an entire roll of toilet paper. Twice.
For at least 2 years now, I have been trying to figure out where I went wrong with these maniacs. I mean, it isn't as though I'm a total pushover. In fact, I've been accused of being a hard-ass a few times. So why do they keep doing crap like this?
I think I've discovered the answer.
I was playing "Where's Your ___" with C today. He knows where his belly is. He knows where his stinky piggies are. He knows where his nose is, but he seems to think that it's funny and appropriate to point to his nose, then honk it, then honk mine, then slap me.
That has to be it. I don't think I've ever disciplined any of my babies for slapping me in the face.
So, I picked him up and spun him around so that he would get dizzy and fall down when he ran off to play.
I'm not saying I think that'll fix the problem. But this story explains a lot about why my children are the way they are.
The Boarding House by The Pioneer Woman
1 day ago