I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
June 13, 2008
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14-month-old Bruiser claws his way onto our red leather Barcolounger and stands up, leaning back against the pillow. Throwing me an insolent look, he casually tosses a leg over the chair’s arm.
“NO, BRUISER!” I say in a deep, stern voice I’ve only ever used on Bruiser and our dog. “NO!” From beside me, four-year-old Punky squeals, covers her ears, and collapses in a cloud of princess dress tulle. Bruiser doesn’t move, but continues looking at me, as if daring me to do something. I do.
“I SAID NO,” I boom authoritatively, plucking him up from the chair and placing him squarely on the floor. Bruiser throws his head back, takes a deep breath, and lets out a howl that would give Teen Wolf a run for his money. He howls and he howls and he howls, tears running down his face. And then he stands up, climbs back up onto the chair and does it again.
This is a typical day here at the Ferrier house. In fact, this is how I spent my last two hours. Almost every day, it seems, Bruiser finds something new that he’s “not be-posed to do,” as Punky would put it, and he does it. Repeatedly. Yesterday, it was climbing up onto the fireplace ledge and standing up on his wobbly legs, perilously close to a marble table corner that would surely brain him if he fell. He spent Monday trying over and over again to climb from the sofa onto an end table. Last week, he occupied himself by crawling behind the table that holds the television, stereo and VCR, and grabbing at the cords. I’ve childproofed the house as well as I could (uh, not counting the open bottle of rubbing alcohol on the bathtub), but the only way to fully Bruiserproof the house would be to take everything out and put rubber padding on all the walls. And so each time he finds a new dangerous and previously unforeseen scenario involving our furniture, I leap into action and pull him out of harm’s way. And each time he howls and screams and does it again.
I swear, for the first time, I understand why some people spank their children.
I think Bruiser’s too young for a spanking, and even if I felt he were old enough, I don’t know that I’d be able to go through with it. But then I imagine him doing this kind of thing in a parking lot when he’s older, or on a city sidewalk, or in a crowded airport. How am I supposed to stop the bad behavior? Whatever I’m currently doing sure isn’t working. Right now, it’s simply annoying, but in a few years it could be downright dangerous. I’m only at my wit’s middle, but I’m trying to take action before I reach my wit’s end.
HELP.
This post originally appeared on Parents.com.
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