Memorial Day weekend arrived, and with it came our well-laid plans to go relax at my in-laws’ house. At first, things went smoothly; we didn’t hurry ourselves, had a leisurely Friday night and Saturday morning at home, then drove the three hours to my husband’s parents. The kids did okay during the drive, and they were looking forward to spending some quality time with the grandparents.
Everything is fine, until late Saturday night, when Isabella decides she wants to sleep in our bed. We say no.
The air conditioning isn’t working too well, it is screaming hot upstairs, and besides, a seven-year-old can sleep in her own bed. She doesn’t like that and yells at me a bit, but I refuse to get drawn into an argument this late at night, and go to sleep. After a little more crying and a few bathroom breaks, she does too. Problem solved, crisis averted.
But the next morning, when I decide to get up early and shuffle to the bathroom to put my contacts in, I find out things are much worse than I thought. The box where I keep my contact lenses, bright turquoise so I can find it even in my half-blind state, is empty.
Empty.
This can’t be happening, I think, and I go to wake my husband.
“Do you think…?” I start asking, and he answers quickly: “Isabella”. I can only imagine the look on his face, since, without contacts, I can see absolutely nothing.
After blaming her brother for about three minutes straight, she gives up and admits she did it. Revenge for not letting her sleep in my bed? Or is that brightly colored box just too tempting, and is that why she simply HAD to open it? I can only guess, since I have long ago learned never to ask why.
I admit; I am so angry that for once in my life, I’m speechless. I don’t even raise my voice, although I do mutter something about ‘I can’t believe you did this’, and throw in a very bad word. Then I go downstairs, carefully and slowly, since I can’t see the steps very well. I doubt Isabella realizes exactly how much inconvenience she has caused. No reading. No driving. No helping her with her homework. No doing any of the odd jobs I have brought along in my bag. No writing. Yikes, and it’s Memorial Day weekend; where on earth am I going to find an Optometrist? And how much is this going to cost us?
My husband grabs the yellow pages and starts making calls. I am no help, but after an hour or two, he locates someone in Grand Island, about a 40 minutes’ drive. On the way there, we have some time to talk, which is good. Talking is about the only thing I’m capable of by now. We discuss strategies, consequences, punishments. What do we do next; how do we, as reasonably intelligent parents, respond to this kind of behavior? Considering she was punishing me for what she deemed ‘bad behavior’ on my part, would us in turn punishing her for her bad choices just reinforce her understanding of cause and consequence? And how do we make her see that there is a difference between fair punishment, and plain old revenge?
Then, a solution presents itself in an unexpected way: the doctor who helps me tells me nowadays it is possible to have 20/20 vision, even for hopeless cases like me. Not until he puts my new contacts (which he had on site, a miracle) in my eyes, do I believe him.
By the time I get home, my eyes have fully adjusted to this new superpower, and I see everything. Doctors have always told me 70% eyesight was all I could hope for. Just enough to drive, and just enough to function. Until today, I’ve lived in a world that is perpetually fuzzy around the edges.
No more; I see every speck of dust, every morsel of nastiness on the floor, every stain on my daughter’s clothes, no matter how infinitesimal. I have a different point of view, and however hard it is to admit, I have Isabella to thank for it.
There's my answer. I shouldn't punish her; I should thank her. I think I know just how to do that: she’s going to help me clean.
For more opinions on whether punishment is the right way to go, see Associated content, the Natural Child project, or read John Stein
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