Breaking the Rules

When it comes to rules, I don't go overboard. I don't want to be the type of Mom that has 500 rules for her children to follow to the letter, and that's before they even eat breakfast in the morning. I'm more of the philosophy that if you set clear, firm boundaries in fewer (but key) areas, the rest will fall into place.

I get this perspective from my own Mother, a woman who walked the fine line between showing her children discipline and freedom like a master. There was no doubt that what my Mom said was law - she was never wishywashy or flimsy. And there was no doubt that our home had rules that were nonnegotiable. But she also belonged to the "It's not a hill to die on" school of thinking. In fact, that's probably the phrase that I remember her saying most throughout my childhood (well, right after "I'll give you something to cry about." :) )

What does that mean in practice? If an issue isn't a matter of the heart (morality, respect, or Godliness), the head (intellectually damaging or inhibiting to learning), or bodily harm and safety (you won't really poke your eye out, now will you?), there was probably some flexibility. It was that flexibility that helped us kids feel like we had choices and some freedom of expression.

Want to wear one red sock and one blue one? Fine. It's not a hill to die on. Want to wear a midriff-bearing top and a short skirt at age 13? No way. A young lady's modesty and morality is a battle worth fighting.

Want to dye your hair blonde without Mom's permission? Borderline, but not a hill to die on. Stay out after curfew when you've been specifically instructed not to do so? That's a double whammy - heart and body are at risk - and the battle is on.

At MJ's tender age, there aren't really a lot of rules yet. Most of his mishaps or "no's" are simply the result of innocent exploring and the desire to learn, not willful disobedience. So the few rules that we do have, I really try to stick to.

Bedtime is one such rule.

Ever since MJ was tiny, I've had some solid rules in place about bed time. Mommy sets bedtime, not MJ. Bottles do not belong in the crib. And binkies (for the most part) do not belong outside of the crib. And crying, throwing a fit, or acting adorable at bedtime will not postpone it.

So when MJ struggled to go to bed over the weekend, I was faced with a choice. I could force him to stay in his crib, crying and screaming with a living room full of guests listening; or, I could get him up.

I bent the rules. I got him up.

There were many reasons why I did so: He was teething and uncomfortable. The usual comforting and medicine didn't seem to be helping. He rarely cries (if ever) at bedtime anymore so, I knew something was really off. And, he genuinely seemed to not be tired.

But the best reason was that my Mommy was here. MJ rarely gets to see his Grandma. So when he stopped crying the instant I brought him into the living room and plopped him in Grandma's lap, my heart melted.

He stayed up for the next hour, playing, laughing, and snuggling. I knew he was getting tired, but we were all having such a good time with him. And, I got this precious video of him playing "spoons" with his Great Uncle Chuck on our dining room table.



Had I refused to bend my rules, we wouldn't have captured that memory. It was a moment worth having, even if it was "off limits".

After all, rules were made to be broken, right? Just ask my teenage self. :)