Discipline is hard when you have one child but it becomes downright tricky when you have three. Not only can you expect three times the naughty capers, but there is three times the detective work to get to the bottom of things.
When I only had one son, things were much simpler. If I found a pudding handprint on my computer screen, there was only one fella I needed to talk to. Now that I’ve got a triple dose of suspects, who, of course, all claim innocence, my house has become an ongoing CSI episode.
Who watered the ficus with Hawaiian Punch?
Who used my Gilmore Girls DVDs as coasters?
Who gave my 25-year-old Rainbow Brite doll a bath…in the toilet?
At first, finding the guilty party was rather easy. The boy who ran the fastest was usually the culprit. The problem is, as they get older, they’re catching on to my methods of deduction and keep changing the game on me. Now they have the capacity to remain silent, blame each other, frame each other and deny, deny, deny. Sneaky. Very sneaky. I only hope they eventually use this innate genius for good, rather than evil.
In the meantime, the ‘divide and conquer’ method seems to be working. When I find a crime has been committed, I’ve learned to stifle my screams of horror. I check out the scene for clues as to what happened and who might be my prime suspect. Sometimes they get sloppy and leave behind evidence that points directly to an individual, like a favorite toy left at the scene during a quick exit. These amateur follies make the job much easier, but they’re few and far between.
I’m not dealing with just any mini-criminals here, when it comes to mischief, my kids are diabolical masterminds. So, in order to determine who’s headed for some swift justice, timeout style, I start out by identifying the most likely offender by the level of naughtiness achieved. After I have a munchkin of interest, I isolate him for an interrogation. Depending on the offense, sometimes he’ll cave immediately, but again, this is a rarity. If I feel like I’m barking up the wrong tree or get a solid lead, I’ll move on to the next suspect. If my gut tells me I’m eye to eye with the guilty party, I’ll start throwing out time-tested mom tactics to peaceably persuade a confession. I lay out choices: You can be honest and tell me what you know now, and you’ll get a timeout…OR…if you tell me you didn’t do it, and I find out otherwise, you can kiss your computer privileges goodbye for the weekend.
Tears and an admission of guilt soon follow and another mystery is solved.
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