I know I am not the only mother in the universe who gets the dull stare, like they have no idea who I am and where I'm coming from. I'm just trying to tell them what to do, as I am trying to discipline them for engaging in the activity that I told them not to do
yesterday.
For example, jumping on the couch or bed. I can clearly insist, "Please don't jump on the bed. Don't jump on the bed! If you don't stop jumping, you are going to be in time out!
The whole time I am trying to use a fierce tone, but they're still jumping, stabbing me with the look of dumbfoundness.
"Okay, jump on the bed, I quit!"
Now this is not the case when their father is present. If he is home, the jumping never begins, because they know Daddy means business.
I've studied closely his discipline techniques; loud, stern voice, and the foul look that says, if they don't listen, you know what is about to happen. No patience
for time outs, if you know what I mean.
Squeaking noises are coming from the bedroom so I prepare for war, Barry is not home. I clear my throat, shift into my new deep voice, practice making those ugly faces, and march down the hall.
"Busted, quit jumping right now," I announced with the most firm voice I could portray. I could see the voice wasn't working because they were beginning to throw me the stare.
I can give you three guesses of what happened next, jumping, jumping, and more jumping! I give up. I used the voice, the look, and still no response!
One day, I am going to put my foot down.
"It's not the kids' fault, it's yours," Barry says. "You are too easy on them."
Yes, I am.
Mother to mother, aren't we all?
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