Hitting them where it hurts

We are on a bit of a reform kick here at the Manor. I spent about half of 2006 and most of 2007 in bed grieving for my dad’s death, then last year was the process of digging out and learning to breathe the air everybody else has to breathe. Now this year I am working on getting my kids back to being civilized. It has really helped to work in a preschool with an excellent program and amazing teachers, the reinforcement of how to do things right has been a huge inspiration. But really it is high time my kids get with the program: Loren tends to wallow in a pool of pubescent driven hormones that leave him bitchy and leaning towards self-pity, Cassidy has deemed herself the star child of the family and has become nearly insufferable in her smugness -my least favorite of traits, and Devon has to learn to eat things that are neither white or pudding-like. Needless to say the task of instilling some consistency in the three is daunting. In fact, if there is one trait I lack one hundred percent it is consistency. That implies a commitment is required, the mere mention of the C word and I want to run the other way in search of mindless mediocrity.
The overhaul has been met with considerable resistance. Gone are the days when with a bit of pushing and whining I will cave just to shut them up. Butting up against rules does not make my brood happy and the bitching has been hard to take. So I have switched tactics, observed them in action and determined just what it is they covet. And then I strike hard and swift, take that item away and listen to them suffer. When Loren got suspended last week I required that he cough up his computer keyboard and iPhone, I swear that for the first 48 hours his fingers twitched for the need of a text message. Devon hates to be denied his after meal sweet. Last night he had a gazillion chances to eat his non-threatening, earth friendly vegetarian nuggets -processed to look and feel like chicken nuggets- so I removed his yogurt from the table and nixed the pumpkin pie he was promised if he ate his dinner. (The O.T. said the food incentive was appropriate, not me….) And dear god, I thought he had become possessed as he bellowed and screamed, hurling himself at the fridge, hitting his fists on the floor as he begged for just one more chance. It lasted nearly 20 minutes and by the time it ended he was so worn out he could barely move. Cass on the other hand is a far more difficult nut to crack. She is seemingly without weaknesses and so discovering her vulnerabilities is a hard task. She is not materialistic, we have no television and when challenged she simply shrugs her shoulders and keeps a straight, emotionless face. The one thing she hates is to be alone. Thus far her punishment is eating alone in the mud room when she becomes too combative at the dinner table. Despite yesterday’s profession of sweet motherly love, the above tactics seem to be working. I don’t want to be harsh but seeking out their Achilles’ heals is how I am handling it right now. My mom used to punish me by requiring me to write an essay on my err, I hated writing and I hated even more the satisfaction I saw in her eyes. She knew she had me and enjoyed watching me squirm through the pages. Do I get the same delight in watching my kids struggle? …..Yup. Knowing Loren wants more than anything to text his friends but can’t because his iPhone is nestled in my panty drawer definitely brings me a bit of dysfunctional glee. Seeing Devon sustain 20 minutes of bellowing brings me pride in his stamina to fight. And finding that one crack in Cass’ facade of badassness does bring me victory. Does it make me a bad mother? Maybe a bit, but I think in sort of a good, fun way. One they’ll look back at one day when they are sitting around a table of beer and pizza and laugh at their whacked out mom and her feeble attempts to bring order to their lives.