In the strictest sense of the word, I’m a self-proclaimed NaziMom. I have my kids on a schedule. We’re in bed at seven. Not 7:01, not 6:59. Seven. That’s it, no discussion.
And in due part to my delightful childhood, plus my need to parent from the couch for an extended period, I got a little worse.
See, the thing is, in my house growing up, my mom didn’t believe in grounding. Now that I’m a mother, I completely understand. It’s more of a punishment for the parent than the child. We got to pull weeds and such.
And when I say and such, I mean sit-ups.
Not the rolly, fakey kind either. You were being sassy? 10 sit-ups. You hit you sister with a spatula? 50 sit-ups. And there was no getting around it. You dropped on that floor, and you did each sit-up as fast as you can, with perfect execution. (Yes, because we all learned the hard way that you do not roll.
“4……. 4…….. 4…….. I said sit up….. 4…….. 4….. 5….”
You get the idea. So I’ve had my kids doing sit-ups for awhile. Well, sit-ups and jumping jacks. It’s really funny actually.
But in my new-found resolve, I’ve begun to “punish” myself. Mom’s getting a little too upset? 25 sit-ups. Mom’s trying to resist the urge to eat the Halloween stash? 50 sit-ups. So far, I’m not doing too shabby. And my kids think it’s funny that I’m in trouble with my own self.
I just wish I got into trouble a little more often…