Because You're Mine, I Draw The Line

I'm sure anyone who knows me well enough knows that for the most part, I say yes. Then I think about it afterwards, and yes is usually - exactly - what I meant to say.

And if I'm don't say yes, right away, it means I want to say no. And I'm trying to figue out how to. Because never really is the polite no a "No". If you have a big enough need, and I can accommodate it without much effort, I can be swayed from a no to a yes. You don't even have to have a need. You might be inviting me somewhere and I'm just ambivalent. But if i think you really really want to do it, and it's not much of an effort for me, I'll bite.

But if I ever say "No" outright, I really, really - and I mean REALLY - mean no.

When it comes to parenting, I say no quite a bit. I say no to Playdough, no to crafts, no to small toys, no to toys with too many parts, no to cake, no to cupcakes, no to gifts, and no to the tiny goodie bags given out at birthdays, no to stuffed animals and new plastic toys. My reasons are: messy, clutter, clutter, messy, messy, messy, clutter, clutter, dirty and wasteful. In that exact order. Do I know that arts and crafts will develop her right brain, that the tactile sensation of fingerpainting will open her mind to all things creative? Yes. Do I care? No. If she's truly right brained, when she's older, she'll find a way around me. And if she's left brained, well, no point frittering time away from her natural inclinations with goo.

Having said that, there's a million things I say yes to. Yes you are allowed to climb and sit on big people chairs, yes you may eat with a real metal fork, yes I put bowls in front of you and trust you not to throw food on the floor. Yes, you have unlimited access to Mommy and Daddy meaning that you are allowed to climb up on us, yes, you are allowed to stir things on the stove - with the burners off. Yes you can stay up a little later, and yes, sitting on the coffee table is permitted (but not climbing on the couch). Yes you can use a real bat, real ball, real hockey puck and real telephone. Yes you can stand up at the sink, and you are allowed a real toothbrush. Yes, I allow you to use the hairdryer.

In a few years, I'll likely have even more rules. For example, right now, it's easy to keep you from the chemicals and the cabinets. In another year, you'll be smarter, faster, quicker and more curious. When that time comes, we'll need locks. But for ow? We're together 24/7 and you're ass is mine.

I don't believe in reprimanding with soft logic. By the time I patiently explain to you that you have the maturity and sense not to do that, your fingers are burnt. Nor am I going to intercept you and then explain painstakingly to you after what the issue is. The answer for me, as you draw near fire - is a staccato "No". And we move on. "NO" as if you were a dog and I was the trainer. Because the conversational "No, Mommy doesn't want you to" is beyond me. And frankly, beyond you. I'm not going to waste the words. For now, you accept me as law, and as you grow, I'll grow. And you'll get more reasoning. You are still a puppy and we aren't going to begin as if you are an equal. You aren't.

No.
No is no.
I don't have to give you a reason, nor do I have to worry about your fragile psyche. I said No. Enough said. My household is not a democracy. Nor will it ever be.
But I'll give you up to 25 years of respect, discipline, love and caretaking and the 50 after, you'll be all set for.