Discipline

There's something you should know about me. I hate to discipline. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

It probably has something to do with my pink colored glasses and my "can't we all just get along?" attitude.

I understand that children will live most of their childhood fighting to get more independence. I totally get it. I was a kid too before I turned into this big grown up who'd like to give some, if not all, of my independence back. 

I understand why I get attitude, I understand why I get whining, I even understand the throwing of objects (not that it's acceptable, but I get it). I understand all that stuff because I do it too. God has heard it all. I whine, I give Him attitude and I have... as embarrassing as it is, thrown objects.  So I get it. Sometimes that's the only way to communicate when you are feeling flooded with emotions and words don't come easily.

What I don't get is that when I ask simple, very non-crazy requests that I get a huge meltdown and 20 minutes of screaming. Dude. Really. Your shoes need to go on your feet for us to be able to leave the house. Just your shoes. I'm not forcing you to wear a tutu or tiara. Just the Iron Man shoes. That's it.

So I do what I hate doing. I discipline. I yell (which I hate), I threaten and I follow through. If you can't quit screaming, you don't get a book at the book fair. We went, we got books for the child who made good choices and the one who chose to make bad choices left... without a book... crying.

Ugh. That's why I hate discipline. It not only hurts him but it hurts me too. I want happy, I want peace, I want lollipops and skipping. I want to see my kids smiling, not crying and I'm learning that God does too but that the only way for us to learn (and grow), we must cry and scream and... be disciplined.

Deuteronomy 8:5
Know then in your heart that as a man disciplines his son, so the LORD your God disciplines you.