Madalyn,

Last week you took a box of chocolates someone gave me for my birthday into your play closet and demolished the entire thing, leaving only a pile of red foil wrappers glittering in the dark like a mound of rubies.

This morning, I found you in your room, sitting on your bed and swinging your legs, your cheeks packed full of vanilla sandwich cookies. A skyscraper of them was stacked completely vertical on your bedside table next to you, where you intended to pop them back one by one. The look on your face when I opened your door: chin down, stuffed smile emerges, eyebrows up.

You got a spanking. Three swats on your bare bottom for being sneaky and deceitful. When I sat you up on your bed again for the pep talk. I expected the crying and sobbing, but not a tear. Only a slightly flinched face, and then a smile as you realized you could pull it off... you had triumphed over "the spanking" and it no longer had any power over you. I think we both must've had the same expression, staring at each other in blank wonder.

THAT was a disturbing moment. Oh Lord, help me! I remember the neighbor boy, Ty O'dell, who used to laugh when his mother chased him around the carport with her broom after his rear. I could've only been three or four at the time, but I remember thinking, 'that- is cool. I must learn how to do that.' I resolved to be tougher the next time I was spanked, but I never was. Ty's mom didn't spank as hard as my dad.

You said you were sorry later on in a very sincere way, and we're straight now. But I am a little worried that this day has come when my spankings are a joke to you. The truth is, I haven't HAD to spank anyone in a while. You guys have hit a calmer phase of life where time outs have been cutting it pretty well. I will now have to reintroduce you to "Mr. Spoon" the next time, when you take a carton of ice cream out to your tree fort without asking. We'll see if he doesn't wipe that smirk off your too-cute little face!

So a few hours have passed now, and we've taken your brother to school, driven through McDonald's for hash browns, and gotten Jack away from the bathtub faucet about three times. And just now, something has happened that was as exciting as your sneakiness is disturbing.

Just now, you brought me an "invitation" you made. Normally, these notes are filled with circles and chicken scratches, maybe a random "A" or "O". (Even those two letters you taught yourself as neither I nor your teacher have worked with you on writing yet. I mean you are only three.) Today, though, the note you handed me had your name on it. I assumed you found something Evan had written, but just in case I asked you, "who wrote this?"

"I did."

"Your name? Your whole name?" And when I really started looking at it I realized the "N" was even better than Evan's usually are.

"Yes."

"Show me!" I exclaimed, and took you in to Evan's desk and shoved a crayon in your hand.

M-A-D-L-Y-N. Almost perfect, and the original one had been perfect. I had no idea. Completely self-taught, I marveled over you.

"We have to call daddy and tell him!" I said.

"And now, I'll write Evan," you said, and proceeded to write Evan's name.

Who are you? I thought you were just a baby (who thought she was older than she was.) You still look like her with your fine hair and thick feet and your baby teeth, but writing letters as well as (if not better than) your brother??

"And now I'll write a criticism on James Dobson's The Strong-Willed Child and why consistency just doesn't work on the modern child's psyche," you said. Which is what you are still doing as I write this. I'll look forward to hearing your perspective.

Love,

Mama

Labels: dumbhead parenting, Madalyn