It’s the little milestones that hit me hardest. After 13
years of parenting, I think our spanking days might be over. We’ve been
conservative spankers—only for blatant disobedience or bold-faced lies—but we’ve
still had our fair share. I’ve heard that you shouldn’t have to spank a child
older than five, that you should have a pretty good grip on willful
disobedience by then. Camryn, our baby, is five.
On a recent Sunday afternoon, Camryn can’t resist helping
herself to a piece of Laffy Taffy from her Halloween basket. She hasn’t asked
if that’s OK. When I question what she has in her mouth, she begins frantically
chewing. When I ask again, she reaches into her mouth, pulls something out, and
hides it behind her back. “Just my tongue,” she says through the taffy remnants
hanging from her teeth.
“Don’t lie to me, Camryn,” I say in a way that means
business. “Tell me what was in your mouth.”
She holds firmly to her answer, enunciating more clearly
this time, in case I hadn’t heard her the first time: “Just. My. Tongue.”
Now Kevin gets involved, prying her hands apart to reveal
the evidence. (Yes, “caught red handed” came to mind.) The tears begin right on
cue, accompanied by the wails and gasps, “I couldn’t stop myself! I really
wanted the Tappy Tappy, and I just couldn’t stop!”
We’ve now attracted a crowd of gawking siblings, so I escort
the sticky, salty mess to her bedroom. I explain that this is not about the
candy; it’s about the lying. Lying is the cardinal violation in our home. You may
get away with jumping off the furniture or covering your feet with purple
Sharpie, but you don’t lie to me. Lying compromises relationship. I know all my
kids will do it—have done it—but they’ll definitely feel the pain of it if they
do.
Camryn feels the pain across her adorable little buns.
Surely it was easier with the other kids than it is with this one—this last
one, this sweet little one who has so completely wrapped us around her finger
with her cuteness? Then I think of her older sister, the one who told any
stranger on the street who would listen, “Daddy pank me. My daddy pank me too hawd.”
For a year. Yeah, that wasn’t easy. On this day that sister stands cowering
with the other kids, ears covered, tears in her eyes, whispering, “Why did she
have to lie? Why didn’t she just tell mom about the candy?” Ah, they learn.
Later, after the crying has lessened some, another sister
visits Camryn in her bed. I hear Camryn say, “I just couldn’t hear the Holy
Spirit!” She sounds disappointed, like the Holy Spirit let her down. I pray
He’ll speak louder next time, even as I smile.
Then I walk into her room, unsure of the reaction I’ll meet.
I teeter on the edge of her bed, wondering if she’ll power up the sobs again or
bark at me to get out. But she doesn’t use words. She just pulls her head out
from under the covers, then her arms, then grabs me and pulls me in, hard.
Little tears continue to roll, but I know we’re at the end of this battle, and
this is my favorite part. Relationship restored. I hold on a little longer and
a little tighter than I would on any other day. Yes, I think our spanking days
are over.
