I found a box of kitchen matches in my 6yo son's bedroom. We've had the fire safety talk, so I figured that this infraction calls for a punishment. I believe the punishment shoud fit the crime, logical consequences, all that stuff we learned at Mommy school.
I have heard of some parents who touch there children with a burnt match to teach them that fire hurts. They argue that it is better to have a little burn than to be engulfed in flames. This teaches children that big people have permission to hurt little people.
Some parents take a beloved object, such as a blanket or teddy bear, and set it on fire on the grill. They argue that it demonstrates how destructive and irreversible fire is--much like emotional abuse. This teaches children that big people have permisson to frighten little people. Save up for therapy.
I took my little guy to the kitchen where we sat on the floor with a saucer of water and I told him he was to sit there unil he had lit every match in the box. This is what I figured:
A. He's curious about fire; he can satisfy his curiosity in a controlled environment.
B. I am right here with him, keeping him safe, and enforcing the rule lovingly and logically.
C. After 200 of these puppies, he'll be sick of it.
At about match 150 he was still saying, "Ooh, pretty!" and I began to suspect that my brilliant display of loving logical parenting had backfired. At match 175 I had a glimmer of hope as he said, "It's fun that I get to, but it's not fun that I have to."
Finally the last match sizzled into the saucer and he sighed and asked to be excused. I felt pretty pleased with myself.
Fast forward to bedtime. "Kiddo, what did you learn from your punishment today?"
Roll of the eyes, very bored sing-song, "not to play with matches."
"Why does Momma want you not to play with matches?"
Another bored roll of the eyes, "Because I could get burned."
"Why don't I want you to get burned?"
The correct answer here would have been that Momma loves him or Momma wants him to be safe.
What he said was, "Because if I die then I have to live with Satan."
Whoa baby!
His big blue eyes clouded up with tears. I hugged him and we had a heartfelt discussion on theology. I assured him that little boys do NOT have to live with Satan when they die. I told him that little boys go to heaven because Jesus loves the little children. He wishes grown-ups would be more like little children. 6Yo kiddo was greatly relieved.
The next day he brought me a picture: "This is you crying by my grave because I'm dead. And this is me in my grave. And this is my gravestone."
I want to know which member of the Addams Family he has been hanging out with at kindergarten and if I should maybe save up for therapy.