This Will Hurt Me More Than It Hurts You

All  of our parents said this to us, right? Just before The Punishment, we'd hear those flimsy words that to a child/kid/teenager's ears meant This is going to hurt me a LOT. As a parent of boys (and that's an important distinguishing feature because boys are evil little brats who cause trouble. Girls ARE trouble, but only as it relates to what trouble they will cause for my boys), I've had to try all kinds of tricks to get my point across, to provide a consequence, to deliver the P word. Branden was simple - he was my gift from God baby, the one who slept well, ate well, was good natured, healthy, adorable, all the things that trick moms into going for just one more! Ryan was harder. I could take away his computer, video games, TV, phone, and social life, and he'd be snotty for about a day and then become my best friend. I know experts say children crave stability and consistency and having their limits reinforced, but he seemed to THRIVE in the punishment, and then it was just me stuck with him 24/7 as HE thrived and I suffered.

And then there was Justin. Justin was my middle child. He was a horrific baby, crying if anyone but me held him. He was sickly, spending months with an illness that eventually put him in the hospital looking like a Sally Struthers malnourished child. (Strangely, not one person ever offered to send just 8 cents a day to make a difference in his life.) When Justin needed punishing, WE needed restraints for ourselves because nothing worked on him. NOT EVER. We tried timeouts. He would fall asleep. We tried sending him to his room. He would fall asleep. We tried making him stand in the corner. He would tip his head forward and fall asleep. We tried spankings. He just shrugged it off saying "That didn't hurt." This is where my dad would usually tell me, "You need to make sure it hurts. You have to show him who's in charge." But that's always the thin worrisome line with parenting. It HAS to hurt the parent more or it's not punishment, it's just tension release. 

For the record, now that my dad is raising a new baby, my stepbrother Cousin Uncle Skippy, he no longer believes in corporal punishment, but rather a "stern talking to." My therapist and I are working on this issue. 

Anyway, back to Justin. Finally so frustrated, I called my mom for ANY kind of advice that might WORK. She said, "Well, I know it worked when my mom washed my mouth out with soap." AHA! The light bulb went off. I knew she was right because it worked when her mom washed MY mouth out with soap, too. It was a disgusting lesson I never forgot. 

Armed with this new intel, I waited. Eventually he would slip up, and he did. With my Dial liquid soap, I declared to him that since he said a bad word, he would be punished by getting his mouth washed out with soap. He looked at me and said, "Okay." Realizing I was only moments away from FINALLY teaching this kid a lesson, I ceremonially squirted 2 big globs of soap on his tongue. He closed his mouth, swished it around, and said, "That's pretty good soap. Thanks mom!" and walked away. 

To this day, they still remain difficult to punish, and are still nonchalant (Justin) or puppy dog receptive (Ryan). Yesterday I got a notice that Justin was missing assignments. I told him he's losing his phone, his ipad, and computer except for school work. He just gives me his "okay" which sounds more like, 'whatever, no skin off my back' and he disappears (presumably to go sleep). Ryan, on the other hand, was trying to get himself OFF my shit list by showing me the work he's doing to get HIS grades back up. 

Me: Great job, but if they're not all up by report card time, you'll be losing privileges, too. 
Him: What? Taking my phone away? You'll have to do better than that. 
Me: No, not just your phone. I'll take that precious iPad from you, too. 
Him: Ummmm..still not worried. 
Me: AND....your ipod! No music!
Him: (Walking out of the room now) Still not worried.
Me:  (Getting frustrated) Basement privileges! You'll lose your basement privileges!
Him: I don't need those, either. 
Me: You'll have to move upstairs!
Him: (coming back), Wait. What?
Me: (smirking 'cuz I got him) You'll have to move upstairs out of the basement.
Him: Oh. ha ha. That's no big deal. I've been practically living upstairs, anyway. (He's been sleeping on the living room couch 'cuz the basement feels like the South Pole.)
Me: No, I'm not talking about moving to THIS floor. I'm talking about moving UP upstairs. The THIRD floor. Where the REST of us live. 
Him: What? No. Hell no. 
Me: Hell yes! You will live in the extra room upstairs wedged right between your brothers. You'll share THEIR bathroom. You'll be within 20 feet of OUR bedroom door. All night. Every night. And unlike the 24/7 insomnia rave going on in the basement, the THIRD floor living quarters have a strict lights out by 10 p.m. policy. 

I finally got what I wanted. That look of extreme fear and worry that every parent wants to see when they deliver The Punishment, the ultimate goal being always to punish, not to hurt. And I succeeded. And I was pleased.

I now feel equipped to try this out on Justin. If I can only catch him awake.........