Tough Love

I’ve always considered myself to be the tough-love type of parent.  That’s how I saw myself before I had kids.  Discipline, discipline, discipline!  

As a teacher, I was pretty sure I had this discipline thing down.  My kids knew exactly how far they could push me and that there was no negotiating when they strayed.  I was strict, but they loved me regardless.  As long as we stayed within the boundaries, we had a lot of fun together.  They were also 12 year old kids.  They understood boundaries.  

My kids don’t.  They still need to learn boundaries.  And there is the added bonus of not being able to send them home at 3:15 every day so I can recharge my willpower.  But I am strict.  I can do this!  I am the disciplinarian... right?

Nope.  That illusion was shattered so spectacularly that I’m still a little stunned at what a wuss I turned out to be.  A few nights ago my little whirlwind child came running into my bedroom.  It was almost midnight and he refused to go to sleep.  Nothing new.  But this time his delay tactic involved climbing into our bed.  Which mother can say no to toddler snuggles?  O, I can!  I enforced strict discipline by holding him tighter and snuggling in deeper.  Giving lots of Mommy-kisses and enjoying every second of our midnight bonding moment.  Who needs a steady bedtime anyway?  

And that was the moment I realized, I’m a softy.  Parenting turned out to be much harder than teaching, by a landslide.