Craig Daily Press

Christina M. Currie

Christina M. Currie's Touch of Spice column appears Fridays in the Craig Daily Press. E-mail her at director@craig-chamber.com

(Editor’s note: The following is a Classic Currie piece. Her regular column will resume next week)

I’ve been observing the schools as I continue my quest for well-behaved children who listen and follow directions.

My conclusion? There’s a magic ring around each school that transforms my children into completely different people.

When I hear comments from teachers such as “listens well” or “completes tasks on time,” I really have no clue who they’re talking about.

Not my children.

But, each day when I arrive at the preschool to pick up 5-year-old Nikki, she automatically rises and begins to pick up the toys she was playing with.

This is a child who at home is about ready to transfer her bed to the couch because she no longer has floor space or even bed space in her room.

I know the clean-up song. I know the system of rewards and consequences. Neither works its magic at my house the way it does in the classroom.

I am comforted by the kind words of one teacher who said it doesn’t work as well at her house either.

What is the difference?

I arrived home a few days ago to virtual disaster in the living room. Bedrooms are one thing — while we are trying to avoid having them declared disaster areas, at least they’re fairly private and contained.

The living room ... well, that’s another matter.

Mom was firm, “You WILL clean up this room.”

That instant, 6-year-old Katie, who two minutes ago was maniacally smashing the tail of a plastic hippopotamus trying to capture the most white marbles, developed a debilitating tummy ache.

Poor thing. She had the least sympathetic mother in the world.

A few (slow) trips later, I noticed she was walking with a pronounced limp. She stopped, distracted by the television. Her injury was miraculously cured long enough for her to do two quick pirouettes to the music. When she was reminded of her task, her injury started acting up again.

Poor thing. Nobody cares about her well being (incidentally the television was turned off after that).

Her response time slowed to a crawl. In fact, the only thing moving fast in that room was mom’s blood pressure.

I growled, “Move faster!”

Katie looked at me, tears welling into her eyes and choked out, “But Mom, I just can’t stop farting!”

What, exactly, do you say in that situation?

I was grateful that the laughter I couldn’t quite contain instantly melted my tension. Katie’s, too. She was 100 percent serious, but somehow the hilarity reached her (I don’t know that she understood, but children often laugh at something they don’t understand just to be part of the group).

The clean-up went surprisingly well after that.

Schools may offer order and consistent discipline — with that many kids, they have to.

I’ve yet to master those particular skills, but I do have a few unique weapons in my arsenal. I’m discovering that the most powerful is laughter. It works as motivation for bed time, homework and eating. It’s a miracle cure for tears, small cuts and minor colds. It dissolves anger and melts frustration. And, it’s a precursor to some other useful weapons — hugs and kisses.

It’s not a guarantee. I don’t know that I’ll ever have the quick response and unquestioning reactions that my children’s teachers evidently get, but ... well, frankly, who does?