My 2-year-old daughter Madeleine told me "no" for the first time this morning. Being a blustery autumn day, wearing a nightgown and sandals out was not an option. Madeleine thought differently.
Being an analytical person, I thought I could reason with her.
"You don't want to be cold. Let's wear a long-sleeved shirt and pants," I said.
"No," she said, crossing her arms for emphasis. "I wear my nightie and sandals."
Part of me was baffled. And part of me panicked. Do I yell? Do I plead? Do I offer candy?
My inner dialogue was screaming, "I want my mommy!"
And somewhere in my panicked state of confronting an obstinate toddler, my mommy came to me.
My mother's style of discipline was not traditional. She never spanked and rarely yelled, but she nearly always got the best of her four children when we misbehaved.
As my stand-off with Madeleine continued, I remembered a similar one. I had also told my mother I wasn't getting dressed.
"Fine," she said. "You don't have to get dressed at all today."
And I didn't.
I couldn't.
After I told her I wasn't getting dressed, she took my clothes from my dresser and closet and hid them. I was imprisoned in pink feetie-pajamas for the rest of the day. My cell was the square footage of our small house. I couldn't go outside. I couldn't ride my tricycle. I didn't go to the park, play with the dog or play on the swing set. I had chosen my pajamas, and I had chosen wrong.
A few years later, my mother declared war on kid clutter. Our den was a cyclone of school bags, shoes, toys and remnants of afterschool snacks. We were prodded and reminded.
"Pick up your stuff," she said.
"At commercial, Mom," my sister replied.
"I'll do it later," I'd said.
Excuses and bargaining did not work for Mom. But currency did. One morning, I awoke and found the clutter was cleared from the living room floor.
"Mom," I yelled. "Where's my bookbag? I need my shoes. I can't find my homework."
She came in and swiftly handed me a slip of paper. It read:
"The following items have been impounded.
1 bookbag
2 pairs of shoes
1 Algebra homework assignment
Each item will cost you 75 cents a day for every day it is impounded. You will receive your items when you complete the following household chores."
I was a fast learner. After suffering the consequences of a late algebra assignment and paying $3 to get my things out of The Impound, as it beame known, my belongings no longer lingered on the living room floor.
My mother's covert discipline continued into my teens:
When my brother and I would fight, she made us stand in the front yard, holding hands and yelling at passers-by. "I love you, brother," I had to say. "I'm sorry I hit you," he'd respond.
If we misbehaved in church, she'd take us home and we'd bake cookies and then she'd take us to the nursing home and make us deliver them to elderly people.
After remembering these incidents, my response to Madeleine took shape. I smiled at the 2-year-old, disheveled-haired opponent in front of me.
"Sweetie, if you choose to wear your nightie and your sandals, that's fine," I said. "But Mommy is leaving, and it would be so sad to leave you here all day by yourself. Have a good day now."
She cocked her head tot he side and seemed to be thinking. I left her in her room. I walked toward the entryway, gathered my car keys, day planner and coffee. I was opening the door to go get in the car when I heard the pitter-patter of little feet coming down the hall at freight train speed.
"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy," she said. "I come with you."
She had one sandal on her left foot and her pink nightgown was pulled over her head. With the gown pulled over her head, she looked like a miniature Virgin Mary, obedient and patient. She held her long-sleeved T-shirt, green pants and tennis shoes out to me like an offering.
"I forgot my pink socks," she said, looking down at the lumps of clothing in her hands. "I need help."
We got dressed and walked out the door.
I made a promise as we walked out to the car.
"I will remember to thank my mother for this," I said aloud.
Melissa Gault is a freelance writer who has written for several publications in Texas.
