Loving The Littlest Ones When You're At Wit's End

I've been there, and I wouldn't be surprised if you have too.

You know, that chilling place where you're at the end of your rope, your patience thin thin ice.

Have you been there, with children? With your very own little ones?

Every time I arrive at that place, I am overwhelmed with gratitude I don't use any form of punishment with my littles. I shudder at the picture of myself angry and out of control.

In the next few weeks, I am tackling the concept of punishment.

I'm going to chat especially about what we communicate with children when we punish them, how a punishment mentality affects us as adults and how not punishing can change our attitudes and outlooks in many areas of life.

As an intro to the topic, I'm going to share some poems I have written on the subject of how children are treated.

​Her name was Mercy

Her name was Mercy and she was in her daddy's arms, golden hair, silk, climbing over his shoulders.

Her name was Mercy and she was sobbing,
Panting, sniffling,
Not even two years old.

Her name was Mercy,
"Compassion", "forgiveness",
And she was lamenting.

She was loudly lamenting the loss of her position in the racecar cart, 
Now elder brother's trophy.

Oh, how she loved being the lone motorist!

Her name was Mercy and she was shrill with loss,
She was squawking and trilling the forfeiture

Daddy gripped Mercy, Mercy clung to daddy

Daddy,
Rigid, taught,
He growled in Mercy's ear,
"You're okay now. Quit yer cryin' or I'll give ya something to cry about."

Mercy, 
Little monkey, planted her face in Daddy's neck,
Shrieks morphing to sobs,
Sobs to sniffles, 
Sniffles to silence.

Mercy's learning.
She's in training,
Yes, she is.

She's learning,
Mercy is conditional, 
And, 
Love's voice carries fear.

Mercy is learning,
Yes, she is,
What her name really means.

​

Who weeps for the children who 
wept alone in dank closets while
the rest of the house slumbers?

​It's easy to assume
A child's cries are
Manipulative mini-lies.

Momma, 
I know it pains, 
But please,
Reminisce:

The witching-hour when,
You were tired,
So you squealed and, and,
Kicked...

The day Doc said, 
"This won't hurt,"
And when it did,
Denied it, since,
It didn't hurt him...

The Tuesday when tiny-you
Thought money was magic:
Went shopping, saw
Row upon row
Of rainbowed sugar-candies, then
Shrieked
In desirous-delight and received a, a,
Swat, 
Confusion-stung...

Misunderstanding smolders.

Fan remembrance, momma:
It is empathy's 
Flame.

Friends, do you remember being children?

Do you remember times when the adults around you assigned motives to your behavior that weren't even in the ballpark of True?

How do you wish you had been treated? 

More on this topic next week...