This morning I called my husband (who's away on a business trip)  to talk through my consequence quandaries over this morning's issues.  My first born had done wrong and needed discipline, but I was in need of my husband's perspective to get this one right.  Matt is not only a man, but he was once a boy himself, much like our three all rolled into one.  He also has a stronger backbone than I do and so there are times when I'm on my own with our three little men (Strong, Squirrelly and Stubborn) that I need to get his perspective before I start swinging blindly.

So here's how it all went down:

Last night before bed we laid out each boys' school clothes, as we must do each night because Caleb (aka Mr. Strong) is naturally contrary.  If I suggest one, he'll ask for two; if I offer a back-rub, he'll ask for a book; if I pull out the a board-game to play with him, he'll ask to turn on a show... and it goes on this way from the crack of dawn to the moment I close the door to his room at night with a pleasant, "That's all now, you're getting no more this evening, time to sleep..."  

So the clothes were chosen (with only a slight amount of struggle because he did the picking - though they had to be long sleeves and long pants) and laid out ready for the day.  This morning started off well with a seemingly content boy who looked quiet handsome in his relatively new Fall duds.  As soon as I praised him on how well put together he looked, he started asking for a short sleeve shirt.  Granted, it had already started to drizzle by this time.)  I said no, absolutely not and called him to the table for a gingerbread breakfast cake and smoothies.  

Then it was "thank you's" all around, clearing the dishes to the sink, and up to their bathroom to brush their teeth.  This is about the time I lost track of him.  I was helping the younger two with their teeth and then their socks and shoes, backpacks, and seat belts by the time I noticed Caleb was quietly strapped into his backseat spot.  "Good job, Caleb," I praised him.  And we were on the road with relatively no bumps.

We poured out of the car at school and I gave him an extra special kiss and blessing before sending him off to class.  He had put on an extra sweatshirt on his own. That was all I noticed.  

After dropping Mr. Squirrelly off at Kindergarten, (I'll save the details of his crying and clinging,) I took Mr. Stubborn to the preschool right next door, where he proceeded to cry and cling as well.  When finally I had lovingly peeled them off my skin and received a thumbs up from their teachers, I headed back to my car.  And that is when I saw him.  Mr. Strong... in shorts and a tee shirt as the cold gray air literally swirled between us.  He was caught.  

In an instant I was sure he had stuffed his contraband clothing into his backpack and changed once out of my reach.  So back we went to his class for him to change.  I didn't speak, as I was shocked.  I knew the bell was about to ring, to signal the start of class, but I was fine with the fact that changing his clothes would cause him to be late to his seat... for that would bring natural consequences all their own. When we got to his backpack, however, I found no long pants and no long sleeves.  He had changed in the last moments at home, covered up with the sweatshirt and snuck into the backseat undetected.  

I gave him a brief stern word and promised him there would be consequences when he got home.  As I walked away I mulled it over... what consequence would be clear enough to rip out the root of deception in his little heart, rather than just pluck the flower that had emerged this morning?

That's when I called Matt.  We came up with a plan for me to exact after school and I felt sure.  Then came a call from Caleb's teacher:  would I be willing to swing by with an extra pair of pants since Caleb's button was broken and now the zipper wasn't working either.  He was using his sweatshirt tied about his waist in the meantime.  I thought fast and said, "As long as Caleb's wardrobe malfunction is not a distraction in the classroom, I would rather not him a change of clothes."  I told her quickly the backstory and said that if he had to miss recess and / or PE because of his shorts, then that would have to be the natural consequence of his choice.  She actually said, "I applaud the way you're letting him "suffer" these natural consequences.  

It is so hard to let our children fall and "suffer", but in the book "Making children mind without losing yours" author Kevin Leman encourages parents to let the rugs get pulled out from under our little rug-rats sometimes.  Natural consequences are where real lessons are learned.

So here I am all bundled up at the keyboard as lunchtime approached at my children's school.  He's going to be cold... especially since he's wearing his sweatshirt around his waist... and he's going to know that Mama was right this time.  I'll still roll out the discipline I decided on this morning, but I know where the real lesson will be learned today.