Under Observation: My Life in Mom's Notebook

"September 3, sunny. Evie left the computer plugged in after using it for schoolwork. The adapter was hot to the touch, which is a safety hazard. I reminded her once. She didn't listen."

"September 4, sunny. This is the second time. I reminded her twice, but she still didn't listen."

"September 5, overcast. This is the third time, so I gave her ten slaps as punishment. My hand hurts, but rules are rules."

That night, Mom called me into the living room. She sat on the couch with the notebook open on her lap, looking as calm as if she were at a parent-teacher conference. She had me stand in front of her with my arms at my sides and told me not to move.

"Evie, do you know what you did wrong?"

My voice came out dry. "I didn't unplug the charger."

Mom tapped the notebook with her finger, slow and steady. "How many times did I remind you?"

"Three times…"

"Three times." She nodded as if confirming a fact. "Rules are rules. If you can't remember them, I'll help you remember."

Before I could explain, she raised her hand and slapped me ten times. Mom was methodical about hitting. She gave me five on the left cheek and five on the right, three seconds apart, with even force and a steady rhythm.

I didn't cry, and not because it didn't hurt. I just knew crying wouldn't do any good.

When I was little, I was too short to hang my toothbrush back on the holder after brushing. Mom wouldn't listen to my explanation and practically pinned me against the bathroom sink.

"If you're not tall enough, figure something out! Can't you use a step stool? I think you're doing this on purpose just to break my rules!"

The next time, I climbed onto the stool, lost my balance, and hit the floor with a thud. I reached my little arms up and sobbed, "Mommy, pick me up…"

I still can't forget the way she studied me. Instead of picking me up, she put the stool back in the cabinet. "How many times have I told you to put things back where they belong?"

I was too young to understand, so I just kept crying for two whole hours. In the end, it was Dad who calmed me down when he got home and put ointment on my bruises.

Later I figured out that crying only made her think I wasn't cooperating or following the rules, and it just meant one more entry in her notebook.

"She gets emotional during punishment and needs to work on her self-control."

After the slaps, she wrote in the notebook for a long time.

That night I lay in bed with my face swollen and my ears ringing, staring at the ceiling and missing Dad. Whenever Mom went overboard, Dad used to say, "All right, that's enough."

That got written down in the notebook too, but at least he said it. Now nobody did.

"October 15, light rain. After her shower, Evie left her wet slippers by the bathroom door instead of putting them back to dry. She tracked water everywhere. I reminded her once. She didn't listen."

"October 16, overcast. This is the second time. I reminded her twice, but she still didn't listen."

"October 17, sunny. This is the third time, so I'm carrying out the punishment. She'll go without food for a day."

At 7:00 am on Saturday, Mom got me out of bed and made me stand at the dining table. There was nothing on it except a note that read, "No food today. Water's in the kitchen. Get it yourself."

I looked at the note, then at her. She was already back on the couch with the notebook open on her lap, writing again. She didn't even glance at me.

It was as if I didn't exist.