Monday, November 26, 2012

Queen of the empty threat.

That's me, just in case you were wondering.

From the second the 4 year old whinges in my ear at 6am to the moment the 8 year old moans that she doesn't want to go to bed yet - I dole them out like a pissed off referee hands out yellow cards. Or more pertinently - like a monarch hands out knighthoods (or the opposite of knighthoods there an opposite? Forget it, lets move on).

'Get downstairs or you'll get no treat in your lunch box.'

'Clear that up or you're not going to football.'

'Turn that off or Daisy can't come over on Friday.'

'Don't talk to me like that or no DS for a week'

'For a month in fact'

'And no TV'

'Stop it or you're on the naughty step.'

'Stop it or there will be no sweets on Saturday.'

'Stop it or you won't get anything for Christmas.'

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. STOP IT!

Of course they know the threats are empty so they don't listen. And the more they don't listen they wilder the threats become. And the wilder the threats become the less likely they are to be carried through.

Of course I've tried to hold firm. Rule over them with a iron fist. But in the end I always take the easy route out. After ten minutes of crying I let them 'earn back' their treat or more likely than not throw it at them aiming for the back of their head.

So it seems I have arsed up my already dubious parenting credentials. I am stuck in a cycle of empty threats and zero power. I need to regain my authority, sit proudly on the throne of parenting and become more than a Queen of empty threats.

Perhaps I should decree a beheading.

What do you think?

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