Kids as Pets, An experiment in parenting

Jeff and I never took birthing classes. We signed up at the hospital, but found them boring as hell and dropped out after spending the first Saturday playing hangman for two hours straight. I’ve never taken a child rearing class or read an entire book dedicated to children. I’ve just never felt the need. I have, however, taken numerous classes on puppy training and read many a book on the subject. Because of this, I often find myself applying dog principles to my children. Dogs, kids– what’s the difference, right?

During our first puppy training class, I recall being instructed not to reprimand Penelope for something that happened more than a few moments ago since her little puppy brain wouldn’t connect the crime and the punishment. It’s vital to catch them in the act of destruction in order to teach them right from wrong. A chewed up shoe that sits out for an hour can no longer be used as a lesson of what is and isn’t an appropriate chew toy. This tid-bit came flooding back to me yesterday as I made some unfortunate discoveries in my bedroom.

Last Friday I found a black Sharpie in Lily’s room. It was sitting on her dresser, clearly up to no good. I took it downstairs and explained that permanent makers are not meant for kids. With big eyes and a red face, she nodded her head, “forgetting” if she had ever used the marker. It’s been sitting in my desk drawer ever since, and I thought we averted what could have been a black permanent disaster.

And then last night, as I put a dab of Vaseline on my lips, I noticed that the lid was labeled “Mommy.” Interesting. And when I reached to turn out the light, something appeared to be on the shade. As I tried to rub it off, I noticed that it was a big black M. Upon further investigation, I found my name, or some variation, on 14 different items in and around my bedroom. How had I not noticed the label on our door, the drawings that had obviously been altered, or my book marred with an enormous M before last night? Clearly, Lily managed to “forget” a good deal of mischief.

The damage was done, though, and I saw no point in punishing her for a crime that had been committed almost a week ago. Lily and I had another talk about the permanence of permanent markers and they now all reside far out of the reach of little hands. I’m just grateful she didn’t find it necessary to label my half of the bedding. Besides, I think a mishap with a permanent marker is sort of a rite of passage, no?

At least that’s what they taught us in puppy class.