Let the punishment fit the crime, and also, exhaust them.

I'm trying something new this week with these kids of mine, particularly the boys.

The state in our home has become such that nary a minute passes, it seems, without either an injury or an indignant wail of injustice.  They can point fingers faster than they can draw guns.  They loathe quiet.  They abhor peace.  They see an item of value intact and working, and imagine its mere presence beckons them to discover and destroy.  A game or activity suggested by this mother is instantly pummeled to bits by complaints as if it were a whiny baby brother.

I have a theory.  Their bodies are growing so quickly, it has become too much of a challenge for them to wield them properly.  The boys in particular are suddenly learning to work such large muscles, and carrying around such robust young-manly bodies, who wouldn't expect an accident or two?

In my motherly wisdom, I expect troubles and accidents, but for the good of society I know that I must accept the challenge presented to me by these young men:

I must help them learn self-control.

Accidents have consequences in this house.  So do the rest of the undesirable behaviors.  As fun as it has been to use a vast array of consequences depending on my mood and the time of day (lectures, harsh tone of voice, corner-facing, spankings, solitary confinement, privileges revoked, etc), I have decided to simplify:

They shall RUN.

Down the grassy hill behind our house, waaaay down there by the tree house, there is a bucket of acorns.  They are acorns for fetching, and quickly, by the rule-breakers.  One acorn for each infraction. 

I may make them into track stars.  I may get tired of standing there with my whistle.  But I will have five minutes peace this week.  They can't misbehave while they are completely out of breath.