The Tough Mom

Disciplining a Toddler Means Not Always Playing Nice

Before I had children, I never thought much about discipline. My husband and I weren't sure how we'd go about it -- a spanking here, a time-out there, maybe? -- but we were united about one thing. Our kids would not be the ones having nuclear meltdowns at every restaurant, grocery market and shopping mall in town. Whenever I witnessed a kid having a fit, whether it was a cute toddler who cried hysterically on a packed airplane flight for nearly two hours, or an energetic seven-year-old who knocked every shoe off the display tables while his mother tried on sandals at Nordstrom, I blamed the parents.

Moms, in particular, always got the blame. "What's wrong with that kid's mother?" thought childless, judgmental me, rolling my eyes. "Can't she control those children? She needs to get a grip."

Yeah, right.

Let me take a moment to formally apologize to all those moms who may have felt the wrath of my naive pre-parent scorn. I was young and foolish. I didn't quite understand just how tough it'd be to discipline young kids -- that they really do have their own personalities and begin asserting their strong wills upon leaving the delivery room. I had no idea that you could have a perfect angel at home who morphs, Jekyll and Hyde-like, into a crazy person with no home training in public.

Now that my youngest son has managed to get himself stuck waist-deep in the Terrible Twos, I can no longer fake like I have the answers. Disciplining kids is an amorphous and highly personal thing. Every family does what they think is right, and sometimes that changes depending on each child's temperament and developmental stage.

My toddler's mood now seems stuck somewhere between mildly perturbed and highly pissed off, which the pediatrician says is age appropriate. Life is sometimes unbearable for a two-year-old, you understand, and my sweet thing has taken to falling out (literally) whenever he confronts the many injustices in his world: having his Binky taken away, not being brought a snack whenever he wants one, having to watch the 6 o'clock news rather than "The Backyardigans," and his older brother's existence. He also regularly glares, pouts and screams like a dolphin trapped in a tuna net, which makes me both furious and nearly suicidal.

Something has to give. So I've pulled my Mean Mommy cap out of cold storage.

It's not as scary as it sounds. It doesn't have to be worn with a scowl or sneer, and it's not meant to frighten the kids into a lifetime of Freudian analysis. I don't want my children to be terrified of me, but having them know that I'm a tough mom can't be a bad thing. I hope they know I'm a firm, loving caretaker who always has their back. But a little fear might go a long way.

And it also sends an important message: "I'm ok with knowing that you're not going to like me for the next 20 minutes -- or 20 years. I'm not your BFF, so let's not pretend that we're equals here." A woman I know told me once, "You should establish early on that you're a badder ass than your two-year-old. He'll respect you more in the morning."

So, this probably isn't the expected cool mom way to discipline kids. But I can't trust that holding lengthy, nuanced U.N.-level negotiations with my kids will help them -- or get the expected results. I'll try this tough love thing until it's proven that it doesn't work.