Alternatives to Smacking

I was reading a thread on Mumsnet about this and was surprised to read that a lot of the posters advised giving a child a smack for (admittedly very) bad behaviour.

Surprised, as I had thought that most people nowadays would be ashamed of smacking, if they do so at all.

Now, I am not a holier-than-thou parent who has never raised a hand to her children - I would like to say I am because it fits my parenting philosophy - but sadly sometimes my temper has got the better of me and I have smacked my children.

I am not proud of it, in fact I am quite ashamed.

It has never been premeditated, and I apologised to my children afterwards.

I can understand those who say, "I smacked him because he ran out on to the road", or "He was reaching for the hot plate, so I smacked his hand" - these are acts of panic or fear, often not a conscious decision.

What I cannot understand is smacking a child for bad behaviour. For me that means the parent has lost control of the situation and does not know a better way of disciplining the child.

We want our children to learn to control their temper, not to lash out when tired or upset, but to take a deep breath and tell us what is wrong. If we cannot do that ourselves, what hope do we have that our children will learn from us?

Even worse is the situation where the child strikes another person or child and is smacked as a punishment. What does that teach our child - that violence is wrong, except when Mummy is dishing it out?

Of course it is sometimes difficult to know the best way to discipline a child, and each child is different so you have to change your methods slightly.

What works in our house:

When child has a "meltdown"
Walk away. Do not react. Ignore. Do not try to reason with him or distract him. He will calm down and then he will be contrite and apologise. Then we can talk about what caused the meltdown and what consequences there will be.


When children don't do what they are told
If possible distract before the situation escalates. This is great for toddlers - we are not talking about ignoring the bad behaviour but about spotting the signs and heading it off at the pass. This can be making a joke, tickling or suggesting a something completely different. "I bet I can get my shoes on before you", is a lot more fun than pinning a struggling toddler down and forcing unwilling feet into shoes.

Don't back yourself into a corner. Nothing worse than threatening, "If you don't stop that, we are going home", then having to leave the park early and go home because you have to follow through.

Use positive not negative terminology - "Once we are ready to go, we will go to the park" is better than, "If you don't get ready to go, we won't go to the park".

Try never to use, "You are always doing..." or "What have you done this time?"
Some years ago, our Kindergarten offered a parenting course and the leader asked if we had ever made a mistake at work, and how we would feel if we had confessed this mistake to our boss to hear the reply, "Oh, you are always doing stuff like that, I am so fed up of it, all the time, the same stupid mistakes...". It would make you feel like shit, wouldn't it? And the same applies for your children.

Don't talk too much. My husband commented once that I had used the sentence, "Get your shoes on" about thirtytrilliontimes that morning, shouted down from bathroom as I was putting on make-up, shouted from the kitchen as I drank tea, shouted from the hall as I put my coat on. Grab hold of the child, look them in the eye and tell them to get their shoes on. The more we chat, the less they listen. And they get immune to shouting. This one is definitely a work in progress as I am too shouty.

Naughty Step can be a useful tool to defuse the situation. We don't call it the Naughty Step, but "go and sit on the stairs until you have calmed down". We rarely use it now, as the children are older.


Violent behaviour
Thankfully we haven't had to cope with this much - aside from son throwing things in a temper. (Wonder where he got that from?) When he does do this, we continue as above  - ignore till calm then discuss consequences.


Consequences 
Is the most important part of discipline, in my opinion. If you threaten something then you have to carry it through, and you can only back down on very rare occasions - and only when you admit that you made a mistake and that you were being unreasonable.

Consequences should be appropriate, and directly related to the bad behaviour. When son threw the iPad (thankfully on the couch) in a fit of temper last week, he was forbidden from using the iPad the next day. When he used to draw on the walls, I would make him help me clean the walls. Don't delay consequences, such as telling them that they will not be allowed to go to the park at the weekend, it has to be immediate.

Sit down and talk about the behaviour (once you have all calmed down). Talk about how disappointed you were and how angry. Ask for their side of the story, shut up now and listen to them for a moment. Decide together on the punishment. And carry it through. When you are done, give them a hug and tell them you love them. And then leave it. Do not keep going back and going on about it.

My daughter will be 9 years old this month, and my son is 6 years. These are the methods of discipline that have worked for us in the past. What about in your house? Do you have any tricks?

In which Dora becomes Beth in Chapter Five

I have taken onboard the comments about the name "Dora" being, for women with young children, synonymous with the slightly annoying bilingual girl with the monkey sidekick. So, without further ado, changed her name to Beth - with thanks to my Twitter friends for their suggestions.

Read Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter 4

Chapter Five

There was no way to put this off any longer. Beth had to go into the office.

She walked into the office building, a modern glass structure near the centre of town, and gave her name to the chic receptionist at the marble topped desk. Waiting while the woman contacted Beth’s office, she turned and looked around the lobby. Her firm shared a building with several other businesses, mainly lawyers and financial consultants. 

The lobby was sparsely decorated, modern artwork splashed across the bare white walls and uncomfortable sofas surrounded by jagged plants deterred lingerers. The receptionist suited the place, Beth mused. She was wearing a sharp red suit, her dark hair bluntly cut, a slash of red at her lips, killer high heels snapping on the cold marble floor as she advanced towards Beth with a visitors’ badge.

“Take the elevator to the 5^th floor, Mme. The receptionist, Mme Galliard will meet you and take you to Monsieur Callow”, she advised.

Beth attached the visitors’ badge to the waistband of her trousers as she ascended to the 5^th floor. Checking her hair nervously in the mirror, she smoothed her trousers and top and snarled at her reflection to see if she had lipstick on her teeth. The doors opened to reveal a clone of the lobby receptionist, only wearing a black suit but with the same killer heels and sharp haircut. Beth was beginning to feel rather underdressed, it was clear that the women here took great pains with their appearance.

Mme Galliard greeted Beth with a smile, and shook her hand. “Bonjour Mme Fraser. Welcome to Geneva.”

“Thank you, nice to meet you Mme Galliard”, Beth replied, “I am happy to be here at last”.

“Monsieur Callow is just finishing up a call. May I offer you a coffee while you wait?”

“Thank you, that would be lovely. May I have a glass of water? It is rather warm today”.

Mme Galliard showed Beth around the office before asking her to take a seat while she made coffee. The offices of Carnegie Geneva had obviously not shared the same interior designer as the lobby of the building, as here the emphasis was on comfort. Leafy plants separated the oak reception desk from the seating area. The sofas were black leather, like the ones in the lobby but there the similarity ended. Instead of angular panels, these boasted soft plump cushions. Sinking into the nearest couch, Beth took out her Blackberry to check her emails. There were several from family and friends wishing her luck, and requesting pictures of her new apartment. The others were non-urgent work related emails that she forwarded to her former assistant in London with the request to pass them on to the lawyers who had taken over her casework.

With a murmured, “Thank you”, for Mme Gailliard, she sipped water and eyed the coffee. Tipping the little tub of cream into the coffee and adding sugar, she took a hesitant taste. As she had suspected, it was much stronger than she was used to – more like an espresso – potent and sweet.

As she sat, she watched the comings and goings of staff and visitors. The quiet hum of a law office was universal, whether in London or Geneva. Only that here some of the chatter was in French.

A door further down the hall opened and Beth recognised Anthony Callow, the Senior Partner in Geneva. He strode towards her, light reflecting off his wire rimmed glasses, his clothes and hair impeccable as always. They had met on several occasions and she had never seen him with a hair out of place. He buttoned his jacket automatically, the suit cut to flatter his tall slim figure. Beth had heard some of the female staff refer to him as a “silver fox” but she had heard no rumours of any flirtations or office romances over the years. Not for want of opportunity or interest, but Anthony frowned upon workplace relationships and kept his private life very private indeed.

“Beth, how lovely to see you. Welcome to Geneva. How was the trip?”, he asked courteously as he led her into his office. Closing the door, he gestured towards an informal seating arrangement overlooking the lake. “Please, sit down”.

Pleasantries soon over, they got down to business. Beth had several weeks to settle into the office before William, the lawyer she was replacing relocated to Hong Kong.

As Anthony and Beth chatted, she could see his eyes passing over the bruises on her face but he refrained from asking. Taking a deep breath, she touched a finger to her eye and said, “You may have noticed the injuries on my face. I was attacked on Friday evening and may, for this reason, have to return to London for a court case at some point in the future. I shall try to schedule this so that it does not interfere with my workload”.

“Attacked? How terrible. Were you hurt? What happened,” Anthony looked shocked and concerned.

“Thank you. I am fine, aside from the bruises but they are almost gone”, Beth downplayed the incident, “It really looks worse than it is”.

“Was the perpetrator apprehended? Is it likely that it will come to trial?”

“Yes, he was caught. I am waiting to hear from the prosecutor as to whether it will go to court. I am hoping that he will plead guilty, and then I will not have to go back to London for a court case. He was not unknown to me – it was my ex-boyfriend”.

Anthony frowned, “I am very sorry to hear that. You know of course, that part of the expatriate package includes health insurance and the services of a counsellor should you feel that you would like to talk about the incident”.

Beth was already shaking her head, “No, no. Thank you. That is very kind but I am fine. I would like to put it behind me and forget about it.”.

“As you wish. Now. Why don’t I show you your new office”, Anthony suggested and Beth grabbed the change of subject gladly.

Her office was two doors down from Anthony’s on the other side of the hall, without a view of the lake, but with a window to the tree lined courtyard below. Setting her bag down on the wooden desk, she looked around in approval. One wall was lined with bookcases, ready to be filled with her legal tomes. There was a small sitting area with three club armchairs around a table.

She smiled at Anthony, “Thank you, very nice”, and then turned at the sound of a soft knock at the door to greet William, “Hello. Nice to see you again, William. How are you?”.

“I will leave you two to chat”, Anthony interjected, “Beth, take the rest of the week to settle into your new apartment. We shall see you on Monday”.

William stared in astonishment at Anthony’s retreating back. He looked at Beth, his eyes wide. “Take the rest of the week off? What did you tip in his coffee?”

Beth blinked. It was unusual for Anthony to offer time off work to anyone. She could only guess that he was feeling sorry for her. Or that he did not want her scaring the staff and clients with her bruised face.

Unwilling to go through it all again, she laughed it off and muttered something about the relaxed lifestyle in Geneva having soothed some of Anthony’s sharp corners.

“Well, I won’t keep you, since you have got dispensation to take off. Get going before he changed his mind. Would you like to come out with the rest of the gang tonight? We often go for an after work drink in a wine bar nearby”.

Accepting William’s offer, Beth arranged to meet him later and said farewell. As she strolled back through the town to her hotel her phone rang. It was the crew of the removal company to tell her that they had passed the Swiss customs without any problems and would arrive in Geneva that evening ready to unpack tomorrow at 7am. After arranging to meet at the apartment the next morning, Beth hung up the phone. By this time tomorrow, she would have moved into her new home, she thought giddily.

She decided to change into more casual clothes and go out for a walk around the town. She still had some time before she was due to meet William and the others, and she wanted to see the old town.

Climbing the steep hill to the top of the town was not for the faint hearted, she thought. The cobbled streets were narrow and lined with interesting boutiques, restaurants and antique stores. At the top of the hill she was rewarded by the view over the town and the lake beyond. Sitting in a pavement cafe, she ordered a café au lait – and received another extra strong black coffee with small carton of cream. Something was getting lost in translation. She was sure that café au lait was coffee with milk, so why did she keep getting an espresso?

When she had paid for her coffee, while agonising over leaving a tip or not, she walked back down to the lakeside wine bar where she had arranged to meet her new colleagues. This life of leisure was rather pleasant, she mused. She had better make the most of it tonight, as from tomorrow she would be busy unpacking and next week it was back to the grindstone.

William waved, “Hi, Beth. Here, I already ordered you a glass of wine”, he said before introducing her to the others. “This is Gill, Audrey, Chantal and Marc”.

They shook hands and welcomed Beth to Geneva, then raised their glasses and chorused, “Santé!” 

Happy Mothers Day - An Expat's View

It is, I think, the 20th Mothers Day that I have spent apart from my mother. Although she may well post a comment saying, "What about that time XX years ago when you happened to be in Scotland?", and if she does, then I stand corrected.

Life as an expat is great but there are times that we miss out.

We expats miss celebrations such as birthdays, weddings, christenings and anniversaries but also on the chance to say goodbye when a loved one far away departs from this life.

The friends and family are far from us, but only in actual kilometers. Not from our thoughts.

So today, I am thinking of my Mum. She is not home as she is participating in a line dancing weekend - which tells you a bit about my mother.

She is fit, fun always - always - on the go. No wallflower, my mum. The first on the dance floor and the last off, she lives life to the full. She is always ready for a blether, except when her busy social life does not allow it.

But she would drop everything to run and help a friend in need.

Happy Mothers Day, Mum. We shall go out for a boozy lunch in May when you come to visit.

Dora - Chapter Four

More of my Dora story. This is Chapter Four.

Read Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

The soft ringing of the telephone woke Dora on her first full day in Geneva. She answered her wake-up call then sank back down in her pillows for a moment. The room was dark but she could see a sliver of sunshine through a gap in the curtains. Tempted by the new day, she slipped into her flip-flops and shuffled to the window to pull the curtains open.

Did one over tire of this? Dora thought she could stand all day and just look at the lake, the hills behind rising steeply above the city. The steeple of the cathedral spiked into the sky above the old town, the red roofs glowing in the early morning sun.

Finally turning, she took a good look at her hotel room. Last night she had been too tired to give her surroundings more than a cursory glance. The antique furniture loomed large in the confined space, combined with the heavy drapes the room left Dora feeling slightly claustrophobic. The bathroom was not large, but modern and well equipped, although she found to her displeasure that the button needed to be pressed down on the hairdryer. She was aware that this was to prevent guests forgetting to turn it off, but it was such a pain. It was up there with coat hangers that were attached to the wardrobe on the list of Things That Will Annoy Your Guest, she grumbled. Surely the price of replacing a few coat hangers was not worth antagonizing the honest customers.

Leaving her room in search of breakfast she found the light and airy breakfast room. She sat at table set for two, ordered a coffee from the attentive waitress then wandered over to survey the breakfast buffet. Bacon and eggs. That wasn't very Swiss. There was however muesli and yogurt, not to mention raw smoked ham and gruyere cheese so she did not feel too cheated of her first Swiss breakfast.

Her plate filled with delicious food, she returned to her table. Gazing idly around she could see that most of the guests were business travellers, studying blackberrys and iPhones, rustling Financial Times and Le Monde. The couple in the corner must be honeymooners, so sacharine their smiles, so teasing their touch.

Dora finished her breakfast and returned to her room to check her emails. She had an appointment for the apartment hand over at 11am and wanted to drop by her new office afterwards. She smoothed concealer over her rapidly fading bruises, wishing that she could have postponed her arrival until she was no longer looking like a pugilist. She would have to tell her new boss about the incident and the upcoming court case, assuming it actually came to court. That would depend on whether Finley pleaded guilty, and she could not see how else he would plead.

There witnesses ready to testify that he had pushed past them on the stairs, just as Dora was discovered at the entrance to her apartment. No one had seen him actually strike her. Could he try to escape punishment?

She shook off the thoughts that had come unbidden into her mind. Next week would be better, when her face was back to normal. It was hard to forget when she was reminded whenever she looked in a mirror.

Dora turned and surveyed her reflection in the full length mirror. Not bad. Her wide-legged trousers and stripy top looked professional without being too formal. She searched her jewellery box, finally settling on a silver chain necklace  and button bracelet.  Slipping into ballerinas, she grabbed her bag and laptop then set off for the hotel lobby where she was meeting the relocation agent.

The lobby was busy. She had no idea what the agent looked like so she lingered at the foot of the stairs, trying to guess which of the suit-clad men he was. One of them caught her eye and walked purposely towards her, “Mme Wilson? I am Jean-Claude Girard. It is a pleasure to meet you”.

“Hello, Jean-Claude. It is lovely to meet you personally at last”, she smiled at the older man. She guessed he was in him mid-fifties, small and slight with dark hair and a kind smile. He had been extremely helpful throughout the relocation process and looked exactly as she had envisioned him. 

“Would you mind walking?”, he enquired, “It is not far from the hotel, and going with the car will take longer through the traffic. Geneva has terrible traffic jams.”

As they wound their way through the town, Jean-Claude pointed out the city’s famous landmarks, and showed Dora the best places to shop. She was pleased to see that there were several supermarkets within walking distance of her new apartment, and that twice a week there was a Farmers’ Market. She envisioned herself strolling home from the Farmers’ Market, her basket full of healthy vegetables and pungent cheese, a baguette under her arm. Perhaps she would even buy a shopping trolley, she could see that they were popular here.

The city seemed so slow and easy-going in comparison to London. Waiting staff from pavement cafés leisurely served guests in the early morning sun, mothers strolled with their impeccably dressed children, lovers wandered hand in hand, tourists stood studying maps and the surrounding buildings.

“Here it is”, Jean-Claude pointed to a sandstone building with wrought iron balconies.

Craning her neck, Dora gazed up at the apartment building. She recognized it from the photos that she had been sent. It had not been easy, choosing an apartment from photographs, but she had not been able to fly over for a house hunting trip due to business commitments.

Jean-Claude produced a key from his pocket, “Would you like to open the door yourself?”.

Dora smiled, and took the key, pleased that he had offered. It seemed an important moment, the real new beginning. She inserted the key into the lock, turned and listed to the clunk of the lock opening. Withdrawing the key, she pushed the door open and entered the apartment house. The hallway was impressive – high ceilings with ornamental cornices, intricate marble flooring and glossy wooden banisters. Dora caught her breath. Jean-Claude pointed out the post boxes, and showed her the key for her box before gesturing to the stairs.

On the third floor, Dora stood again before a locked door. By now her heart was racing, her hand shaking, making it more difficult to gain entry to the apartment. As she turned the key in the second lock, and opened the door, she held her breath.

The hallway of the apartment was large and airy, leading into several rooms. As she advanced into the hall she looked first into the kitchen. Although the white units were serviceable, they were some years old, but the appliances seemed to be newer. There was a large double door leading out onto a iron balcony with a view of the street below.

Another door from the kitchen led into another room, that Jean-Claude termed a dining room, but would serve well as an office. She could almost see her antique desk in front of the window, where she could gaze out of the window when seeking inspiration.

“It is pretty, yes?”, enquired Jean-Claude. He was very pleased to have secured the apartment for Dora. The housing market in Geneva was incredibly competitive, she had learned and there had been a great deal of interest in this apartment.

Dora nodded, “Lovely. Is this the sitting room?”, she asked, pointing to the door on the opposite side of the hall.

“Yes, you have a fireplace and another door to another balcony; this one is toward the courtyard so more private and quieter. The sitting room and bedroom are on the inside of the house, the kitchen, office and bathroom on the street side”, Jean-Claude explained.

As Dora stepped into the sitting room, she laughed in delight. It was stunning. The stone surround fireplace dominated the room, a set of wrought iron doors concealing the grate. The sun poured into the room through the large windows, reflecting off the white walls and the gleaming wooden parquet flooring. In Dora’s mind, she had already selected sheer, billowing curtains for the windows, arranged her furniture and hung her paintings and photographs. She could be happy here, she decided, as she opened the door to the balcony.

This one was slightly larger than the tiny one off the kitchen; big enough for a small table and two chairs. She would sit here in the evening as the sun sank behind the neighbouring buildings, with a glass of wine and a good book.

She turned to Jean-Claude with a dazzling smile, “It is absolutely perfect”.








Chapter Five, in which Dora becomes Beth

Dora - Letter in a Bottle

This is today's work for the Writers Workshop - today the theme was "Working with writing prompts".

I chose the sentence, "She hesitated at the post box, not knowing if she should really send the letter" and tied it in with my Dora story.

This scene will come later in the book, it is not Chapter Four.



Earlier chapters here: Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three.

Letter in A Bottle

Dora sat, picked up a pen and wrote. She wrote of her disappointment, her hurt, her anger, her fear. Tears welled in her eyes then ran down her cheeks to drip down onto the page. In her head, she was screaming, even as she formed calm sentences. How could you do this to me? Did the time we spent together mean nothing to you? After all I have done for you, after all we have been through together, why? Why? WHY?

She had so many questions and there were no answers.

Standing abruptly, she strode into the kitchen, fought open a bottle of wine and poured. Deep breath. Drink. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Her heart was pounding, tears were streaming, she struggled to catch her breath, she sobbed.

With a shout of fury she threw the wine glass across the room as she cursed him. It felt good to let out her feelings, she had been hiding them behind a curtain of coping for too long. Too often, she had told friends that she was fine, it was all behind her. No, really, she was over it.

But she wasn’t. As long as she was frightened to walk down a dark street alone, nervous in her own home, unable to bear a man’s touch. She was not over it. The bruises had healed but the invisible scars remained.

Her sobs subsided as she surveyed the scene. The cushions thrown around the room, the wine glass, the papers on the floor. Had she done that? She had no recollection of it. Stooping, she picked up the letter, searched for an envelope and stamp then slung a coat around her shoulders as she headed for the door. She would post it right now.

Her steps light as she ran down the stairs, she felt better than she had in months. Flinging open the door, she emerged into the bright sunlight. As she approached the post box, she hesitated, not knowing if she should really send the letter.

With her lawyer’s head on, she knew she should not. It could influence the upcoming court case. She stared at the name on the envelope, so familiar yet so unknown. She looked up past the post box to the lake in the distance. That was it.

Stopping only to buy a bottle of water, she hurried to the lakeside. She soothed her dry throat then tipped the remaining water in the lake then rolled the letter and stuffed it into the still damp bottle. She drew back her arm and the bottle soared in a graceful arc into the lake.

She watched it dance on the waves caused by a passing boat then turned her back and headed for home.