The Jailer

Dear Friends, my kid is in jail.  It’s not something pretty, and it’s not funny.  It’s my worst nightmare.  Remember the dog pooping in the van?  Well that’s nothing compared to the fresh stench of mess that my kid’s gotten herself into.  For the second time this month, she has taken something that doesn’t belong to her.  At school.  Now, some people might say that the world wide web is no place to dump family dirt, so please don’t misunderstand the purpose of this post.  I am the first to stand up on the soapbox and say that bashing people is unacceptable and especially when it is your own family.  No, I’m not here to tell you all the dirt about the deal that went down.  I’m just laying down the gauntlet for all mamas to be brutally honest and admit that our kids aren’t perfect.  I’m a fierce mama bear when someone does something that isn’t right to my kids, but I’m not about protecting them from consequences, and I’m sure not going to make them out to be perfect.  They are beautiful.  They are intelligent.  They are funny.  They are adorable.  They are full of love and joy and they truly are the apples of my eyes.  But perfect?  They are not.  And neither am I.

*Gasp*

Okay, get your breath back and stand firm with me.  This isn’t about me, or perfection.  This is about becoming a teacher in the world’s fastest class.  It’s about figuring out what to do next when your “plan” doesn’t work out like it should.  Secret number 1:  Plans never work out the way you want them to.
And so, you have to plan on the fly.  When things are down and dirty and kids are screaming and crying and dogs are pooping in your van.  But as you are planning on the fly, you must remain calm.  Because any form of excitement can cause children to flit like moths to you, and this will defeat the lesson.  It’s like the black velvet curtain that deflects your attention from the trick that the magician is performing behind it.

So, taking things that don’t belong to them is probably a kid thing.  I’ve heard it is.  I read it on the internet, so it must be true, right?  Well, even if every child in the world took things that didn’t belong to them, and their teacher caught them, it would be of no consolation to me.  Because I expect more from my kids.  I expect them to know right from wrong, and to obey what their parents teach them.  And yet, here we are, a five year old in jail.

As I said, you must remain calm.  So I calmly led my child through every step of processing what happened.  Where was the toy?  How did it get in her hands?  How long was it there?  How did it get out of her hands?  How did her actions affect others?  What could she have done differently?  What will she do next time? (God forbid there is a next time)  I took her to the school and worked with her through three hours and 13 bags of leaves worth of community service.  I explained probation to her.  I encouraged her to write letters of apology to her teacher and the principal, and I ordered her to pay restitution for the two toys she took with the money she got from the tooth fairy.  Glitter and all.  And I went with her as she apologized verbally and admitted to the teacher and her principal for what she’d done.  And I prayed and hoped and thought that this would be the last time.  The end of it.  Because it only takes one time to learn such an embarrassing and painful lesson, right?  Well, apparently some children are hard headed.

And so, yesterday, the day after the dog crap; the day our phone company decided to give us some very insufficient customer service; the teacher asked for five minutes of my time.  And I knew it wasn’t going to be a good five minutes.  She’s a great teacher, that one.  Because she’s dynamic and sings, and has a face that lights up like a golden star atop the tallest, most festive Christmas tree.  She’s beautiful on the outside, but she’s also beautiful on the inside.  And she loves all of her kids.  Even those that make other teachers cringe.  She really has a heart for them.  She has amazing fashion sense, and brings glamour to the classroom, which scores major points with Line.  She’s a rockstar, a leader, a passionate educator, and a golden gloved boxer who fights the good fight every day.  But my favorite thing about my daughter’s teacher is that she’s a sister warrior who shares the weight of the battle.  I never feel like I’m alone in this journey to guide my child.  I feel like I have a partner.  And not one of those “I have all this experience and you have none” or the “Oh, you’re one of those parents” kind of teachers.  She’s a teacher of parents as well as children.  She is so generous and graceful, and I will venture to say that without her part in Line’s journey, things quite possibly may be way worse than this.  So in that five minutes, she puts her arm around my shoulder and tells me that Line has taken something again.  Again.  Two times in as many weeks.  Ugh.  And she sighs with me.  And she looks me in the eye, and says, “I’m sorry.” While shaking her head.  And I know she is sorry.  Not the kind of sorry you feel for someone you know you don’t like, and not the kind of sorry like she’s gonna flunk my kid.  The kind of sorry you say to someone when you’re rooting for them and they strike out.  The kind of sorry you feel when you have to break bad news to someone you know has had too much bad news already.  And I feel calm.  I’m upset inside, I know this is not good.  I’m disappointed and angry and clueless as to why my child is doing this.  But her understanding eyes and her sympathetic voice and her gentle body language tells me that I can be calm.  Even when I’m feeling all these other emotions, she’s guiding me to be calm.

And so, as I calmly direct my children where to go when we get home, I don’t think about anything except how do I teach?  I didn’t go to college.  I don’t have a clue what to do here.  I’ve done the whole “this is this and that is that” deal.  I’ve made those mommy eyes, that say I disprove.  But still, here we are.  It’s gotta be the right kind of lesson that captures her.  It has to be interactive with the appropriate amount of stimuli and the effective amount of sting that will engage her to pay attention.  It has to be memorable, so that she won’t forget this lesson.  And all these things must be done with the perfect amount of love, so I don’t break her fragile heart and make her into some sort of serial killer.

So, I send her to jail.  Calmly, Beef and I go upstairs and exact the consequence that we told her would come if she ever took something again.  We remove every toy from her room.  She doesn’t get to watch TV or play her tablet.  She doesn’t get to have any privileges anymore.  She just has the basic needs of life.  Food, clothing and shelter.  And if she pulls a stunt like this again, she will loose the luxurious food, clothing and shelter.  Because in the real jail, they don’t have Monster High sheets and brand name clothing.  And I told her that – calmly.  She cried as we packed up her toys.  She cried as I talked.  I heard myself.  I was calm, but stern.  And I felt like I sounded like my parents.  Which I didn’t like.  Not because I was irrational, but because I just don’t like to be hard on my kid.

I will not sugar coat our lives.  I will not deny that my kids make mistakes, and I will not make excuses for them.  But that doesn’t mean that I can’t hurt inside for them.  Oh frontal lobe, why do you take so long to develop??

Parenting:  It is not for the weak, the lazy or the ignorant.  You must be alert!  You must be wise!  You must be quick!  You must be so much more on the ball than your kids, or you are screwed into that wall and left to hang around while chaos ensues and things get ugly!

I’m a jailer now.  I hate it.  But it’s what I have to do, because I’m a mom.  And an outside the box kind of mom at that!