Chapter 97 Traditional Parenting Method
Finished
I watched as she tossed her toys aside and said sternly, Pick those up and put them back in the playroom.”
“I don’t want to! Mommy’s being mean!” Yuna sulked, dropping to her knees, hugging herself, and burying her face in her arms.
“I’m going to count to three. By now, I’d stopped believing that gentle parenting worked on Yuna. I needed to adopt a more traditional approach–perhaps a firmer hand could foster a respectful child.
Yuna pecked up at me, confused. The moment I counter two, she sprang up like a jack–in–the–box and rushed to collect her toys. “Mommy! Stop counting! Can’t you see I’m cleaning up?”
She crammed every last toy into her small wagon and swiftly wheeled it back into the playroom.
When she came running back out, I met her at the doorway. “You just said losers have to obey the rules. So now, I want you to pull the weeds in the garden. No dinner until it’s done.”
“What? That’s too much!” Yuna scrunched her eyebrows together. “Mommy, please don’t punish me. You’re the best mother in the whole wide world. I love you so much.”
“Nice try. Get to work.” I said, completely unmoved.
Her lips trembled, eyes glassy with tears–but she still trudged outside, casting long, dramatic glances back at me every few steps. She knew how to do the chore, but she just didn’t want to.
Mona stepped outside and praised her with a warm smile. Yuna was surprised by the compliment, then doubled her speed, yanking weeds like a little machine.
I sat nearby, supervising. Halfway through, Yuna pulled out her kiddie smartwatch and called Shawn while still tugging weeds.
“Yuna? What’s up?” His voice came through, rich and smooth. “Daddy’s in the middle of having my dinner.
“Daddy, quickly come home to rescue your daughter! Mommy’s making me pull weeds, and she won’t give me dinner until I finish. Her voice wasn’t one of tears; her expression was simply one of hurt.
I expected Shawn to comfort her; maybe he would question my parenting.
But instead, he chuckled low and deep. “Oh yeah? Well then, you better do what your mom says and finish the job. Then you’ll earn your dinner.”
Yuna huffed when she realized her father wouldn’t
ve her. She ended the call and went back to pulling
weeds in silence. At one point, right in front of me, she yanked up a little flower on purpose. I reached for a nearby twig. She quickly dug a shallow hole and replanted the flower, all while casting those big, watery eyes at me–accusatory and wounded.
After 10 or 15 minutes, she’d cleared the whole flower patch. She ran over, practically glowing. “Mom! Look how awesome I am. I really did it!”
“Hmm, wash your hands, take a shower, and have your dinner,” I said. No more long, drawn–out praise. No more kisses or your amazing speeches. These days, I just give clear orders.
“Okay!” Yuna ran upstairs. She could shower by herself now, and I’d asked her to wash her underwear
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Chapter 97 Traditional Parenting Method
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Finished
I had a light meal during dinner. After a short break, I rolled out the yoga mat. Yura played beside me with my yoga ball, occasionally trying to copy my poses.
“Whoa, Mommy! How can your leg go that high?” She asked, eyes wide with awe
“Td trained in dance for over ten years–every move was sharp and controlled. She’d never seen me like this before. Her eyes were wide with wonder, like she was discovering a whole new version of inc.
But I didn’t say much. I’d stopped explaining myself to often. Some things didn’t need words anymore.
Around II p.m., I put on my headphones and finished repeating a chapter from the Englarian textbook. Thereafter. I got ready for bed.
Then I heard a car engine shut off outside. My expression tensed. I quickly turned off the lights and pulled the covers over my head.
Before long, footsteps followed–but they went to the guest room next door.
Shawn had definitely had too much to drink again. Queena had probably fed his ego enough for one night, and he wasn’t in the mood to come find me.
With zero expectations, I fell into a deep and restful sleep.
When your heart is calm, everything falls into place. You can handle anything. That’s what I hoped for myself moving forward–grace under pressure.
Morning came.
It was a bright, early summer day. Sunshine poured through the window, and my mood was unusually light. I wore something that paired well with a side ponytail, then tied a satin ribbon through my hair for a touch of charm. The light danced across the floor, and in the mirror, I saw a woman with a kind of quiet, divine beauty.
That moment pulled me back–18 years old, leaning against a windowsill, sketching and daydreaming, not a single worry in the world. I’d peek out the window and watch sunlight flutter through the trees.
I realized it had been a while since I visited my parents. In the six years since I got married, I’d only gone home for the holidays. The rest of the time, I’d always used busy as an excuse.
