Somehow rainy nights spark imagination and camp songs. We are not above such things. The kids went straight to the window to watch the rain, and my wife and I starting singing, "If all the rain drops were lemon drops and gum drops . . . ." Each of our kids told us what they wanted the rain drops to be. It was a lot of fun. Despite how fun I thought I was, when the kids were tired they abandoned me and went straight to Mommy. The girls were fighting over Mommy's lap, and my son was climbing onto her shoulders. I even plead for someone to snuggle with me. No takers. At least my son was excited for me to put him to bed.
As a legal tool, distinctions are effective for demonstrating why one party is right and the opposing party is wrong based on a given precedent or law. As a parenting tool, it is a waste of breath. For example, when my son purposely knocked the water bottle out of my daughter's hand onto the floor, I led him into his room, where he started to cry. He said I hurt his feelings because I pushed him. I began to explain that I did not push him, I gently guided him into his room, but I stopped myself midsentence. I have tried to make distinctions before and they have almost all failed, at least where there is any subtlety involved. It wasn't worth it. So, I said, "I'm sorry if it felt like I pushed you. I did not mean to do that, and I am not mad. But you know that whenever you hit Mommy and Daddy have to take you to your room for time-out." The apology that my actions were misunderstood, along with a hug, did much more to diffuse the situation then trying to argue distinctions. I could do that and still be straightforward about the discipline agreed upon for hitting. The home is not a courtroom. In the home, whoever argues, no matter how persuasive or well-founded the argument, loses.
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