Sunday, January 15, 2006

The TMI Files. Moron Discipline.

Sometimes, I do wonder how on earth people raise children at all. We all know that they don't come with rego or rulebooks, and while winging it seems haphazard, it generally works.

I think children grow up to spite parents.

I've been having fun with Magilla lately. She's getting used to the new housemate who is, after all, the old housemate, and starting to push boundaries.

The Godmother and I laughed ourselves sick yesterday.

Magilla has a tendency to remove clothing at home. She has a great Paris Hilton all over suntan. It helps that she's got wonderful olive skin that loooooves the sun. She's cool with clothing when we're out and about, but obviously the convenience of going commando makes more sense than having to drop daks, negotiate clambering all over the toilet, doing your business, wipe, get down, pull daks up again, flush and wash hands. It's all so much easier sans daks altogether.

However... yesterday she hadn't gotten around to removing her knickers, and was bleating to me about wetting herself. She wanted to take her kit off. I said no, which was when she told me again about wetting herself. I checked, and she was dry.

Not happy.

So I tried to discuss 'lying' with her.

Dumb idea. Stupid idea. Discussions with three year olds involve dumbing complex ideas down to words of one syllable or less. Words that we read in Dr Seuss or hear on Sesame Street.

Morality, responsibility, consequences are words that can't be explained, only experienced at that age.

Unfortunately, when I'm falling about laughing, I don't do a very good job of imparting wisdom.

She has this habit of pulling little faces at me when I'm trying to be serious. Most of the time I can bite the inside of my cheek and work through the giggles. Sometimes I can't.

Yesterday, trying to explain lying (1st time attempt, so cut me some slack!), she kept looking away from me or hiding behind her fringe. I brushed the hair out of her eyes, looked her in the eye and demanded she look straight at me. Look at me in the eyes.

So the little ratbag did just that. She looked me straight in the eye, then reached up and with one finger pulled one lower eyelid down. Shades of A Clockwork Orange and Alex's aversion therapy.

She had this very solemn expression on her face, no smirk that I could detect, and I lost it.

That child is going to be either a comedian or a lawyer. She's a genius at splitting hairs, but she also cracks me up like you wouldn't believe.

The Godmother was sitting behind Magilla while all this was going on, and her stomach was hurting from holding the laughter in. When I lost it, so did she, and the opportunity to impart *cough* wisdom *cough* likewise was doomed.

Lying is not something she makes a habit of, however, so that's a good thing. I try to be consistent and if I don't see something, I can't discipline her for it. Also, I don't punish accidents, so she's more than secure with me. (Actually, I get accused of being a pushover at times. I am, but there is a line that is not to be crossed. Magilla knows that.)

I think it's a lesson we'll have to leave for a bit later on.


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