I will not talk excessively

Upon entering my first day of Mrs. Miriam Cooper's third grade class, I was introduced, along with the rest of the students, to Mrs. Cooper's hard and fast classroom rules. Along with these rules came her method of discipline which I came to know as: Slow death by handwriting.

Death by handwriting began very slowly. On my very first day, (can you believe?) in her class I had to write three sentences which read: I will not talk excessively. Soon, the numbers increased by a few and then by many, and soon, being the the repeat offender that I was, (some perpetrators never learn), these sentences began to add up quickly until I had notebooks and notebooks containing the dreaded phrase. I'm sure the poor lady was wondering if I would ever stop talking. (She and Benji should initiate a support group. Any takers?)

Her method eventually seemed to take root, as there are few things more monotonous than writing the same thing over and over. Writer's cramp is no picnic either. (Try writing 125 sentences of ANYTHING and see how you feel afterward.) It was not pretty.

With this lesson in mind, we began a new discipline model in the Souza house today; I call it Death by Handwriting. On my refrigerator tonight sits two lists. One is a sheet with twenty sentences that read: I'm going to be a nice boy. The other sheet contain the sentences that read: I will not talk back to my mom. One was assigned by Benji, the other by me.

It was a rough day today. It was one of those days when I wonder what I am doing as a parent. Why would my kids talk or act the way that they are when the way that they are acting is disrespectful and out of control. I figure that if I, their mother, who in all honesty knows them for the fantastic geniuses that they are, and in spite of this, cannot stand to be around them, then something must be done.

So we will try this way and we will try that way. We will try every trick in our book of tricks and hopefully something will take. Luckily I'm a Scot and we all know what great warriors they are. Insert picture of Mel Gibson in a kilt. (This is the part where Dave Lunt breaks in and gives me the real history that I didn't learn by watching Braveheart. Sometimes real life can be a big bummer.)

We just put our kids to bed and I am thinking about all the sentences that I wrote when I was Sage's age. I wonder if Mrs. Cooper is still around. She might be happy to know that I am finally learning my lesson...