Donna Jones - Raising Kids with Good Manners

2013 by Donna Jones

Published by Revell

a division of Baker Publishing Group

P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

www.revellbooks.com

Spire edition published 2013

Previously published under the title Taming Your Family Zoo

Ebook edition created 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any meansfor example, electronic, photocopy, recordingwithout the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

ISBN 978-1-4412-4497-0

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version. NIV. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com

Contents

Introduction

Do you ever feel like your children are monkeys and your home is a zoo? Of course you do!

But if youre like me, you want more for your family than surviving through eighteen years of chaos. You want to encourage your child to be the best he or she can be. You want helpful information you can implement in real life. You want to raise a child who loves God and others. This book was written with you in mind.

Raising Kids with Good Manners is a practical manual that offers attainable, age-appropriate tips for raising a well-mannered child. The book is divided into two sections: Training the TrainerYou! and Training Your Child. In these pages I will walk you through the how-tos of developing a confident, courteous, well-mannered child. You will find many real-life stories from families just like yours. My hope is that you will find encouragement in these pages.

Raising Kids with Good Manners was written for every parent who wants to visit the zoo, not live in it!

Part 1

Training the TrainerYou!

There Is Hope!

I hate spitting.

I never dreamed that I would be spit on by a monkeyespecially a monkey that was my own.

It began like a thousand other days. The springtime sun warmed my arms as my children and I happily drove to the parkanother perfect day in sunny Southern California. We were to meet several friends from church, along with their children, all roughly the same ages as my three. The sound of familiar preschool melodies filled the car as we cruised to our destination.

I pulled into the closest spot available in the crowded parking lot. My children quickly spotted their playmates and squirmed excitedly as they waited for me to unbuckle first one, then two, then three car seats. The older two, as eager as two racehorses in the gate, waited as patiently as could be expected while I placed their six-month-old sister in her stroller. When I was finally ready, off they flew, across the grass and down the hill, with the kind of pure and uninhibited laughter that somehow only children can muster.

They swung, climbed, twirled, and danced. They got dirt under their nails and sand in their hair. They dined on peanut-butter sandwiches and red juice boxes. They exchanged silly knock-knock jokes and private whispers. They were in kid heaven.

Truthfully, I was in heaven too. There was not a hint of hitting, biting, or tattling among anyones children. The other mothers and I got a few precious, uninterrupted moments to visit and laugh. And every so often one of us would jump up and swing or climb or twirl with our kids. We laughed almost as gleefully as they did. It was the perfect dayalmost.

When the last juice box was empty and the last fishy cracker eaten, it was nearly time for us to head for home, so I prepared my children for our departure with the infamous five-minute warning. You know the one.

Kids, we have five more minutes to play, I called sweetly.

At two minutes I again reminded my children that soon it would be time to go. I gave one final reminder as zero hour loomed near.

At first my children ignored me. I chalked it up to being caught up in the excitement of the day, but a bit embarrassed, I walked over to my two oldest and repeated, Its time to go now.

My three-year-old immediately grabbed my hand and prepared to go. My six-year-old was another story. First he began to whine. Next came the crying. Then the wailing. Finally, he stomped his feet in complete defiance. By this time my friends, along with every mother at the park, had stopped their conversation and become totally engrossed in our little display. I could feel every eye riveted to our scene, every mind wondering how I would handle this all-too-common scenario. We had become unwilling actors in a play whose ending was yet to be written.

What I wanted to do was bury myself in the sandbox. What I did instead, was try to regain control of a bad situation quickly going south.

So, with an infant-laden stroller and every sand toy known to humankind in one hand and a three-year-old child hanging on to my other arm, I somehow managed to take my sons arm and usher him toward the car. I willed my eyes to face forward, trying to ignore the other mothers stares and my sons incessant crying.

When at last I could take it no longer, I stopped dead in my tracks, bent down to face my son squarely in the eye, and hissed under my breath, Taylor Michael Jones, we are going home. Stop this now!

And then he did it. The unthinkable. The unimaginable. Every mothers worst nightmare. My darling, normally well-mannered child spit in my face !

It began like a thousand other days. The abrupt ring startled me out of deep thought as I reached for one dish, then two, then three... routinely unloading the dishwasher, relishing the quiet moments after my three children bounded out the door for school. I reached for the phone.

Hello. Mrs. Jones? said the unfamiliar voice.

Yes. This is Mrs. Jones, I hesitantly replied.

Mrs. Jones, this is Mr. Orjeron, your son, Taylors, eighth-grade history teacher.

Uh-oh , I thought. Yyes... , I faltered.

Mrs. Jones, I am on my morning break grading papers. To be quite honest, I was getting very discouraged.

Yes. Oh no .

Ive graded over one hundred tests, and most of the grades have been Ds or Fs.

I see. Great. Just great.

And then I came to Taylors test.

Yes. Oh, Lord, whats next?

Mrs. Jones, I wanted to let you know that Taylor received a 100 percent. But that is not the real reason Im calling.

Its not? Oh, my!

No, Mrs. Jones, its not. I wanted to call to let you know not only what a good job he is doing at school but, more important, what a good person you are raising.

Me, Lord? Could this be the same child who spit in my face?

I wanted to let you know that you have a son you should be proud of. He is respectful, polite, well-mannered, and thoughtful of others. But he also has a great sense of humor and is well liked by his peers. And so, Mrs. Jones, I just wanted to take a moment out of my day to say thank you for raising a great kid.

Thank you , Mr. Orjeron. Thank you, Lord. There is hope!

Ten years later our family laughs at Taylors spitting episode. What once made me feel horrified and defeated now seems funny. And Taylor, at seventeen, cant believe he ever did such a thing. The point? Whether you feel you and your family need just a few pointers where courtesy is concerned or you feel your childrens manners are something that could make the cover of National Geographic , you can tame your family zoo.

Of course, in todays society, it is not as simple as it once was. According to a 2002 study done by Public Agenda Research Group, nearly eight in ten respondents said lack of respect and courtesy is a serious national problem; 61% blamed parents for not instilling courtesy in their children. Clearly, lack of manners caused by ineffective parenting has become a serious issue in todays fast-paced society.