I've taught two- and three-year olds in Sunday school since my mid-twenties. You can imagine how many times I've said the word NO to perfect, beautiful, charming but incredibly tenacious little ones -- through impassioned demands to Go Right NOW and get their Mommy (of course), fist-pounding fits over the toy train (everyone wants the caboose), high-whined begging to use REAL paint and glue (not just crayons and tape - those are for babies), the pleading side glances for just one more cup of goldfish crackers (right before lunch). 

I try to let my no mean No. In the end, it saves us all a lot of heartache.

You'd think these experiences would've made it easy to say no to my own children, but - UGH - it's so hard to deny the people we love. Hard to disappoint them, even when we know it's the right thing to do. 

Especially with the baby. Garret is my baby. If you're a regular reader of this newsletter, you've seen his picture dozens of times. (He's the one with straight brown hair. Mason is the curly top.) The problem with G was that he's easy. He seldom cried, really never threw tantrums, just pleasant from the very start, then so sweet as a toddler and happy as a child. So on the rare occasion when he did get in trouble, it was HARD to tell him no. So hard.

Once when my mother-in-law Elsie was visiting, she and I went to pick him up from nursery school. She was beside herself to see him -- an unearthly cute and affectionate three-year-old. While we waited for the kids to be released, Garret's teacher called me over for a private conversation. That's never good.

Seems my sweet dumpling boy had been exhibiting signs of "a hitting problem."  And, no, today wasn't the first time he'd flipped out over his block tower being demolished. I listened to the sordid details, felt one hundred years old, then collected my dimpled progeny and strapped him into his car seat to start for home.

"How was your school day, baby?" Elsie was a career-long elementary teacher who appreciates the value of a well-behaved child. She'd also rather take a bullet than see any of her grandchildren suffer. 

Garret's little legs dangled as he shifted in his seat. "Fine." Uncharacteristically succinct. 

I got straight to the point. "Did that Presley boy knock your tower over today?"

His pink lips twisted a yes.

"What did you do?"

(Three beats of consideration. Weighing the options.)

"I hit him." 

In that moment could hear Elsie thinking, "Good for YOU, Handsome Grandson! I'm sure it was a public service, and that Presley boy is an insufferable brat in need of a well-placed smack!" Thankfully, she kept these thoughts to herself.

The car was very quiet for a long time until G ventured a "Whatareyougoingtodo?"

"I think you know the consequences for hitting." I was trying not to giggle and change the subject, trying to be serious because in his child mind this was very serious, trying to think of a way out of being true to my word -- that he'd be punished for letting his temper get the best of him.

(More silence.)

"Are you going to spank me?"

Our gaze met in the rear view mirror. He should be a salesman, with those compelling, meltingly-beautiful brown eyes, that pretty chin. I should have settled for only having pets. Cats don't need much discipline... 

We pulled into the garage, and I went to help G out of his seat.

"Mom, Mom, let's not do this. Let's not do this. I'll be good."

(Heavy sigh.) "No, Honey. Come with me." 

Elsie still tells the story, "...then you pulled that precious thing into the back bedroom, and I heard two little pops, a loud but half-hearted wail, and it was all over. He came out, brushed a tear aside, and asked me to read him the new book I'd brought."

Whether you agree with corporal punishment or not, please know that I didn't enjoy administering it, it wasn't delivered in anger, and only his pride was injured. What G did learn from that experience is that he was expected to follow the rules, and he couldn't charm his way out of what I'd promised would happen if he disobeyed. 

It was a defining moment in our relationship. He knew, "When Mom says No, she means No." In some ways, it took the pressure off of both of us.

If you struggle with saying NO when you really need to -- with your kids, your boss, your spouse, relatives -- or if your time, patience and energy always seem to be taken up by other peoples' agendas, excuses and emergencies, then I hope you'll come to my next LifeInspired session (see sidebar). I can help you help yourself.