Sticks and stones . . .

In my campaign to teach my children that the central figure of the Christmas holiday is really Christ, not Santa, I decided to up the ante on our advent calendar (a lovely off-white wooden number from Restoration Hardware that I coveted for two Christmases before finally having the epiphany that I could actually afford it if I waited until after Christmas to make the purchase) this year by tucking a Bible verse in each cubby with the requisite candy. While my kids have made it clear that the primary appeal is still the treat, I'm benefitting tremendously from the exercise.

The first week I focused on basic principles (Love God, love your neighbors, etc.) and Christmas-themed selections (Good news - Jesus is born!) But as the month has unfolded, I've found myself looking for situationally appropriate content like this morning's verse (paraphrased for the five and under crowd): Unkind words hurt people just as much as a sword would hurt them (Proverbs 12:18.)

I figured this might get my son's attention, as he just last night grabbed a butter knife from the drawer and assumed a fencing position, declaring, "This is my sword." But my primary motive for featuring this particular instruction today was born of a comment my daughter had made to her brother earlier in the evening.

After he committed the egregious offense of tearing down the secret hideout she'd constructed from bedsheets, she spat out something along the lines of, "I don't ever want to see you or talk to you or play with you again."

Understandably, my son burst into tears. I dealt with her behavior with a trip to timeout, a conversation about how much unkind words hurt people and the revocation of her nightly pre-bedtime snack and show. Today, I reinforced the concept with the aforementioned advent verse.

As I anticipated, the Tootsie Rolls behind door number 14 trumped my painstakingly selected scripture, but I know my audience so I'm okay with that. I don't expect those verses to magically transform my kids into kind, gentle, loving people who never say or do ugly things. After all, I'm (very nearly) 35, and writing those words made me reflect on all the ugly things I've said and done to the people I love most:

• My parents: Anyone else ever thrown down an "I hate you" because their dad wouldn't let them go to the prom before they were a senior in high school?
• My husband: I distinctly and painfully recall one night when I, in a rage, said something to him that was very much akin to what my daughter spewed last night
• My kids: Am I the only mom who's ever asked her kids to leave her alone for just five minutes? While there are worse things I could say to them, I don't count telling them, in so many words, to take a hike as kind.

Add to the above the general mean-girl complex I recall having in middle and high school and the cutting remarks I still make (or at least consider making) at work, in the check-out line at the grocery store, while driving in rush hour traffic, and it all factors out to this: I have once again seen reflected in my child one of my own ugliest tendencies.

So with that in mind, I'll bid this blog farewell for the day as I resolve to say (and think) only kind things. Wish me luck.