disciplining

Today I had to discipline baby Doodle, not once but twice. And I don't mean the kind of discipline where I say "no no" when he's about to touch something I don't want him to touch. I mean the kind of discipline where I have to . . . well, I'll just tell you what happened.

We were at the table about to eat lunch. I had reheated some left over vegetable lasagna that a friend made and was kind enough to let me take baby Doodle's left overs with us. I had been preparing baby Doodle to eat lasagna in the car on the way home from story hour, "we're going to have lasagna for lunch when we get home." And "it's so delicious. Mmm I love lasagna." Baby Doodle was repeating "lasana lasana." We get home. I heat it, then cool it. It's ready to eat. I put some on baby Doodle's fork. He says, "no no no, cheese." I say he has to have some lasagna first, since I know he likes it and he had a ton of cheese last night causing some very hard poop. He pushes the fork away and repeats his mantra, "no no no." I take a few enthusiastic bites to prove how good it is. Still nothing. Then baby Doodle picks up his water cup and throws it on the ground. I sternly tell him, "No. Do not throw your cup on the floor." Then I put it out of his reach. I continue eating my lunch. Then baby Doodle picks up his plate of perfectly good lasagna and throws it on the floor splattering sauce and vegetables everywhere. I gave him a stern look and said, "No. Do not throw your plate or your food on the floor. You can throw balls, not food." I cleaned the floor, dished out some more lasagna and offered it again. He put it in his mouth then spit it back out. I ignored him. He requested cheese. I repeated he could have a piece of cheese after each bite of lasagna. I offered the lasagna again. This time he ate it, and liked it, then I gave him the promised cheese. We continued this way with him saying proudly, "lasana, then cheese, lasana, then cheese" until the lasagna was almost gone. It was a battle I didn't want to have to have, but I felt like we had a breakthrough. I held my ground. Did not tolerate him acting like a brat, and he did what I wanted and ended up liking it, as I knew he would.

He took a nearly three hour nap. We went to the playground, came home, and read some stories. Mr. Doodlebug came home and we had dinner. I made tortilla pizzas, asparagus and beet greens -- I know they don't all go together but it's what I had on hand. For baby Doodle I had available pizza, asparagus, yogurt, pasta, mashed sweet potatoes, and more of that dreaded lasagna. He gladly ate the yogurt and a few bites of pizza. Then he decided to test his limits again. For no apparent reason he threw his milk on the floor. I gave him the stern look he's now accustomed to and said, "No. Do not throw your milk on the floor." He laughed and looked at Mr. Doodlebug who said, "That's right baby Doodle. Do not throw your milk on the floor."

He proceeded to pick up his fork and chuck it at me. It landed right in front of me on the table. You can guess what I said here. Then, he threw his water on the floor breaking the seal the rubber top makes with the hard plastic bottom. Without saying a word I removed his tray from the booster seat, unbuckled him and carried him up to his room. I sat on the rocking chair holding him facing me. I said, "Look at Mommy. You can not throw your things. You can't throw your water or your milk or your fork or spoon. Do not throw your plate or bowl. The only thing you are allowed to throw is your ball. You have to listen to Mommy." He tried to smile a few times but when he saw I wasn't amused he straightened his face. I gave him a hug and a kiss and reminded him how much I love him. I brought him back downstairs and sat him back in his seat. He told Mr. Doodlebug that he can't throw his -- then he listed everything he can't throw. He neatly and obediently ate his sweet potatoes. He made conversation with us, mostly about not throwing things. Dinner was over and Mr. Doodlebug took him upstairs for his bath. I did the dishes and thought about how tired I am.

I am drained from my two power struggles with my 19-month old. I hope I sent the right messages today. I hope I got through to baby Doodle that I am in charge and that he has to listen to me. I hope I also relayed that I still love him even when I'm mad. I hope what I'm doing will make him behave and be respectful, not because he's afraid not to be but because it's the right thing to do.