Unfortunately, my Flaming Sword has been in action this week as we deal with the aftermath of The Formal, The Wombats and a general inability to get on with things.
For all my espousing, the act of invoking consequences is an unpleasant one. I guess that's why I call it a flaming sword. The old adage 'this hurts me more than it hurts you' whilst not entirely true, does echo eerily around the walls at times like this. No one actually enjoys depriving a child of a prized possession or the opportunity for an outing and sometimes the results appear, initially, to be somewhat counter-productive.
When I think back to my own parents' attempts to dole out discipline and consequences, the thing I remember most was how the disapproval lingered. Years later, as an adult, when I made mistakes I railed against my mother's need to analyse the incident. Essentially, I knew I had done the wrong thing, I felt bad and I needed no further rubbing of salt into the self inflicted wound. So now as I wrestle with the naked resentment which comes from having one's comforts removed, I have to remind myself to roll with it. I have to try not to harp on about the infraction, not focus on the unfortunate behaviour; but equally shake off the rejection when day to day niceties are rebuffed. I have heard myself comment recently, 'I don't know why you're being snippy with me. I'm not the one who made the bad choices.'
Things have got to change around here. We have been doing too much. I have basked dangerously in the laurels of having a 'lovely kid', to mix a metaphor. I had momentarily forgotten that she is indeed, just a kid.
Unfortunately, it is the BA who has, ultimately, to suffer the consequences.
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