Good cop, Bad cop

We play "Good Cop, Bad Cop" in my house. Not the fun way that gets people killed in embarrassing but fascinating ways on CSI, but in parenting. When we are disciplining, one takes the firmer discipline role, the other comforts the victim, or tries to lure the truth from the small bags of water and lies. Most times my wife is the "Good Cop", like today.

Today my older daughter was arguing with my wife. I know this is a dangerous game. I have the scars and the bad back from the couch to prove it. And the child doesn't use smart arguing techniques like taking the logical extreme or misinterpretation. She simply interrupts her mother and makes her demand, or gives her proof why her mommy is wrong.

I remember I did that once to my Mom. It was the first and last time we had a footrace. I proved I could outrun my Mom, especially upstairs. I also proved my ability to corner myself quite efficiently by erroneously believing that if I made it to my bedroom and called "base" I was safe.

Why does this wonderful, generous, bright child toy with the fragile emotional balance of someone twice her size who has the history of making her life less than fun when she mouths off? She was having an obstinate moment today when I heard this phrase:

"No, you're wrong. Woman."

Should a pin have dropped, it would have been easy to echo locate. My wife, the woman I am desperately in love with, thankfully chose not to end this little person's enrollment in our family at that moment. She gently, but firmly, restated that she was "Mommy", not "Woman". I on the other hand was the emotional one having a combination of giggling and weeping in the kitchen.

I was the "Bad Cop" yesterday. The kids were downstairs "playing" when I heard a thump and my younger daughter begin her "I think I'm hurt" wailing. It's funny when she can't find us in this state. She'll wander room to room and it will sound like the doppler effect of a cat trapped on a ceiling fan.

I, being the sensitive artist father, gently bellowed:

"You'd better be bleeding to cry like that".

Well I was damned, but she turned the corner with blood on her lips. Her big sister had punched her. My wife and I switched roles, she took the "Bad Cop" role of immediately disciplining the older daughter, while I comforted the child I had almost said "AHHH shaddap!" to.

It turns out she attempted to punch her older sister in the face, but missed. I would normally call that natural consequences, but my wife has read better books on parenting than I have. What is funny is both kids have a Clouseau/Kato relationship with me. They take punches at me whenever they can. So of course they had some skill in it. As a fringe benefit I'm set to go a few rounds in the ring with a dwarf.

I'm not sure why we balance the discipline the way we do. Although, considering the behavior the past two days we may be doing some re-evaluation. I'd like to suggest "Good Cop, Interpretive Dance Cop".