How old does your child need to be before discipline starts? And how harsh does the discipline need to be?  It depends on a lot of factors.

I started mine young, as soon as they knew right from wrong. Don’t look at me with incomprehension - they know when they are doing wrong from quite a young age, I assure you!

My littlest is the worst. He is fifteen months old, and he knows what ‘no touch!’ means. This does not deter him from sneakily getting into things the minute my back is turned.

“He’s just a baby” you might protest. Come on. If he is unaware that he is not supposed to stick the penny (which he is not supposed to have) into the wall socket (which he is not supposed to touch) then why does he jump a foot in the air when he sees me and crawl over to stick his head under the playpen in the hope that I do not see him?

Excuse me. He knows!!!  I am one of those people who prefaces my introduction to parents at playdates with  “Hey, just to warn you, if he dashes out in the street, tries to stick his finger in the other kid’s eye or bites, I am gonna smack him on the butt.”

This usually gets either a high five or a shocked glare followed by a hasty goodbye, depending on the political leanings of the parent.

Hey. Better a smack on the diaper padded tushie to ensure the lesson is learned than a flattened fifteen month old in the middle of the road (or a lawsuit from an angry parent!)

I don’t whale on my kids. I don’t keep a ping pong paddle handy, or a leather strop in the barn. But if they are going to injure themselves, I would rather sting their bottom than end up in the ER because they pulled a pot of boiling water off of the stove.

So sue me. Turn me in. I love my kids, and want them to survive childhood! You can tell when they are ready for discipline. It’s when they run and hide when they hear you coming!

You hated it when your Mom said it. You swore to yourself that when it came to raising a child of your own you would NEVER say those eight awful words.

You would be the perfect mother, and your children would be perfect angels. You would rule with a gentle but firm hand and never raise your voice. In your world, the children would be fed, bathed and lovingly tucked in bed by six, and your husband would be greeted by sweet serenity every night when he crossed the threshold.

You didn’t take in to account what the cost of raising a child would have to your psyche! When talking to children you find yourself spiraling down into this dark place, as nothing you try seems to get through. One by one, you break every vow you ever made about the way you were going to raise YOUR kids. Your voice rises to a screech, and your mood plummets.

You’ve tried the time out, which you always despised when you were a child. Doesn’t work. You send them to their rooms. They color on the walls. You threaten them with grounding - from what? They’re two and four! You toy with the idea of sending them to bed with no supper - but you know you’re wayyy too much of a softy to follow through.

And so you fall back on the one method you swore you would never resort to, the ultimate threat of everywhere fear…

“You just WAIT until your FATHER gets home!!!”

It’s OK. When they grow up, they’ll say it to their kids, too.