cat named pig

I can’t bring the funny right now. I’m too tired. And a little bit sad. (How often do you really admit that to yourself, in response to the day’s events? Not that often, probably, unless you have a blog. Easier to just shrug it off and move on, or at least that’s how I was until I started scrutinizing every experience to see if it could be turned into a blog post.)

So here’s what happened today: Siena hit me. Hard, with a closed fist to show she meant business, three separate times.

If we had been at home when this happened, I would’ve just gotten all SuperNanny and given her a warning after the first one, followed by a three-minute time-out after she did it again. Then we would have talked about it, hugged, and gotten on with our lives. And I’d be writing a post about cat barf or something. (Don’t worry, that happened today too. Pig still can’t break the binge-purge cycle.)  

But we weren’t at home. We were at the park rec center, getting ready for Siena’s ballet class. Surrounded by parents getting their children ready for the same class, and watching us in that pitying/judging way that says, “I have a kid; I know how they can be. But still, my child would never hit me like that. I can’t believe you allow that sort of behavior. I’m glad my child and my parenting skills are so vastly superior to yours.”

So here’s what I did: I tried to ignore the first one (she almost missed, anyway, and there was a lot going on in the room. I just chalked it up to over-stimulation and was willing to let it go in favor of putting on the ballet shoes and finishing her snack before class started). When she hit me the second time, I hissed, “NO hitting” and then placed her on a couch and informed her (SuperNanny-style) that this was her warning. She was to sit there and finish her snack or we were going home.  

But when she got up, came over to me and very deliberately hit me a third time, I didn’t know what to do. I had given a warning, with a grave enough consequence that I thought she would never test it, and she had. Should I follow through (as I assume SuperNanny would) and actually leave? Or was that cruel, considering how she practically lives for dance classes? Or is that appropriate, to take away something really important to her, so she learns an important lesson? I mean, you can’t just hit someone every time you get a little bit frustrated; that’s reasonable, right? Have to learn that sometime. But then again, she’s three. She’s not even going to understand it as a Life Lesson — she’s only going to be crushed that she missed her dance class. And hate me. And need years of therapy to move past this incident. 

With all that racing through my mind, I decided to buy myself a minute to think by packing up our stuff as though we were leaving. This got the point across that I was serious and that she had crossed the line. It also allowed me to cool down enough to talk to her calmly. (It also gave the other parents in the vicinity an opportunity to really give their pitying/judging faces a workout. I mean, the things people can convey with just their eyebrows — it’s impressive.)

I asked Sara to watch Elliot for a second and took Siena outside. We talked about how it is never OK to hit someone, no matter how angry you are, and I told her I would still let her go to class, but I expected that this would never happen again. She apologized, we hugged, and we went back in.

So now I’m interested in opinions, because I still haven’t made up my mind about the whole situation: did I do the right thing? Did I overreact? Under-react? Fail to follow through on the punishment, thus setting myself up for a lifetime of having my warnings ignored? Or lay the groundwork for future therapy sessions by threatening too harsh a punishment, and making her doubt my love for her by pretending I was actually going to go through with it? Gah.

I’m serious: I’m interested in hearing what people think. Many of you reading this are parents, and it’s not like that even matters — I had plenty of opinions about how to raise kids before I ever got pregnant. I know you do, too. So leave a comment or send me an e-mail. All (constructive) feedback and suggestions welcome. (Suggestions along the lines of “You should never have had kids” would be an example of non-constructive. Besides, I already know that. Kidding.)

[Edited to add: Upon re-reading this post, I realized it may sound like I get all my parenting techniques from a TV show, which I actually don’t. But that time-out thing? It really works. And it’s not like the kids came with instruction manuals. You gotta pick up pointers wherever you can.]