Kelly Clarkson Admits To ‘Not Being Above Spanking’ Her Children If They Disobey Her

The happy mother of River Rose, 8, and Remy, 6, Kelly Clarkson, spoke candidly about her thoughts on spanking as a form of child discipline in a radio interview. The topic of parenting styles has been increasingly controversial in recent times due to their diversity and growth.

Being a well-known figure in the entertainment industry, Clarkson recently received recognition for her work with a star on the prestigious Hollywood Walk of Fame. She hasn’t held back when discussing her choice to add slapping to her repertoire of parenting techniques.

She constantly offered evidence to back up her beliefs, pointing to her upbringing and cultural influences.

Support and skepticism have been generated by Clarkson’s statement that she is “not above spanking” her kids in a culture where parenting ideologies are as varied as they are fervent.

“I don’t mean striking her,” she clarified, clarifying that her goal is to employ physical punishment in a regulated way rather than to harm someone. She went on, “I just mean a little spanking.”

However, there are many who disagree with spanking. A reputable organization for child health, the American Academy of Pediatrics, has categorically stated that spanking is counterproductive and may even be detrimental to a child’s health.

Parents continue to choose the conventional method of punishment, despite the fact that the organization’s stance is supported by extensive research and professional consensus.

Kelly Clarkson’s upbringing in the culturally diverse and diversified state of Texas is the reason behind her support for spanking. “We get spankings because I’m from the South, y’all,” she said, highlighting the regional and cultural impacts on her views.

“My parents spanked me, I did fine in life, and I feel fine about it,” she said candidly about her upbringing. She feels that this tactic helped to develop her well-rounded personality and that it was effective in imparting values and character.

However, when examining and critiquing her parenting style, Clarkson recognizes the challenges of reprimanding her kids in public. “It’s challenging to do that in public because people might think it’s inappropriate,” she clarified.

She is adamant that spanking is a valid form of discipline, even in the face of potential criticism. She said, “I believe in spanking, so you might see me spanking my kid at the zoo.”

A warning component is incorporated into Clarkson’s approach to strike a balance between communication and discipline. “Hello, if you don’t stop right now, I’m going to spank you on your bottom,” I said. She said, “This is ridiculous,” emphasizing the significance of candid communication throughout the procedure.

She says that the frequency of undesirable behavior has decreased as a result of this strategy.

The debate surrounding Kelly Clarkson’s method of child discipline is a reflection of broader conversations around human autonomy and different parenting styles. While some could concur with her, others might advocate for different approaches that emphasize non-physical tactics.

Respecting parental choices while taking into account the development and well-being of their children is essential in a community that values candid communication and experience sharing.

Essentially, Kelly Clarkson’s candid admission of her views on spanking has led to a complex discussion that represents the diversity of contemporary parenting ideologies.

Our views on what makes for good parenting change along with society, and different points of view have a place in this lively dialogue to coexist and add to our collective parenting knowledge.

On Our Anniversary, My Husband Presented Me with a Bill Summarizing How Much I ‘Cost’ Him Over the Years – He Insisted I Repay the Amount

Five years ago, Ava stood at the altar, ready to start a new life with the man she loved. But tonight, her dreams lay shattered on the kitchen table. They were replaced by a cruel reality: a spreadsheet calculating the “cost” of her love.

“There’s something important I need to talk about,” my husband, Daniel, said, his voice unusually strained. At that point, my excitement for our fancy anniversary dinner sizzled out faster than a forgotten birthday candle.

We had reservations at 8 p.m., and all afternoon I’d been looking for the perfect outfit for our little Ben, while also folding mountains of laundry and reheating last night’s dinner.

Being a full-time stay-at-home mother wasn’t easy, especially when I had to look after my one-year-old son.

I met Daniel at the bustling investment firm where I used to work. My brain, sharp as a tack, thrived in the fast-paced world of finance.

Numbers danced in my head like a well-rehearsed ballet.

But then, the doctor’s words shattered our dreams like a dropped crystal vase.

“Infertility,” he said. “There might be some complications with conceiving naturally.”

Later that night, curled up on the couch with takeout boxes scattered around us, we talked. “Maybe it’s not meant to be,” I whispered as tears rolled down my cheeks.

Daniel cupped my face, his thumb wiping away a stray tear. “Ava,” he said. “If anything, this makes me want you more. We’ll figure this out, together. Maybe adoption…”

The seed of hope he planted took root in my heart.

That night, we made a pact to face whatever challenges came our way, as long as we faced them together.

Marriage wasn’t just about having a family, it was about building a life with the person who made you feel whole, even when pieces seemed missing.

A few months later, standing at the altar, tears welled up in my eyes again, this time a mixture of joy and relief. “I do,” I whispered.

As he kissed me that day, I felt lucky to have him by my side.

Soon, fertility treatments became our new normal. One evening, after a particularly grueling round of tests, I found Daniel staring out the window. He looked defeated.

“Maybe it’s time I resign,” I offered. My career, once a source of immense pride, felt insignificant compared to the yearning in my heart.

Daniel turned around. “Are you sure? You love your job.”

“There’s something more important,” I said, taking his hand. “You. Us. Building our family and looking after this house. I think I need to be at home more than anywhere else.”

With a hesitant nod, Daniel agreed.

Soon after I resigned, a new chapter of my life unfolded.

It was filled with doctor visits, support groups, and the quiet ache of longing. But through it all, Daniel was my rock.

Finally, after lots of medicine and appointments, Ben arrived. We were so emotional when we first looked at our tiny miracle wrapped in a blanket.

Our little family, messy and perfect all at once, became my whole world.

Last Monday was our fifth anniversary. I couldn’t believe it had been five years since we tied the knot. Time flies, doesn’t it?

The last five years felt like five decades of laughter, late-night talks, and shoulder-to-shoulder battles through life’s storms.

Looking back, a warm wave of gratitude washed over me for having Daniel by my side.

Excitement bubbled as I envisioned a romantic dinner, a night to celebrate this milestone. I couldn’t wait to see the surprise in Daniel’s eyes when I revealed the reservation I’d snagged at that fancy Italian place we always talked about.

Grabbing my phone, I dialed his number. “Hey, honey! Guess what?” I chirped.

“Hey,” he answered. “What’s up?”

“Just thinking about tonight! Where are we planning to go? Do you have anything special planned?”

A beat of silence followed, then, “Ava, there’s no need to go anywhere fancy. We’re not doing anything special tonight. No presents either.”

“Oh,” I managed, the disappointment clinging to me like a damp sweater.

“Just wait at home, okay? I’ll be there soon. We need to talk.”

Then, the line went dead, leaving me staring at the phone. What could be so important to ruin our anniversary night? Why was Daniel acting like that?

I was sitting in the living room, watching Ben play with his toy cars when the front door creaked open. Daniel walked in. His shoulders were slumped and he didn’t look like the confident man who returned home from work every day.

“Hey,” I greeted. “Rough day?”

“Yeah, something like that,” he mumbled.

A knot of worry tightened in my stomach. Daniel rarely brought work stress home, and his silence was deafening.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Just… come here,” he said, heading towards the kitchen.

I followed him, and he pulled out a chair for me after reaching the kitchen table.

“Sit,” he said.

“Is everything alright?” I asked, my voice tinged with worry.

“Not really,” Daniel replied coldly.

Then, he shuffled some papers on the table.

“What is it, Daniel?”

“There’s something important I need to talk about,” he said, his gaze meeting mine. “I’ve thought a lot about this and I finally decided to discuss it with you.”

I felt a shiver crawl down my spine. Something important? What could it be?

“Look at these,” he pushed the papers across the table towards me.

Curious, I quickly picked up the document and scanned it. The papers were filled with numbers and columns. I could tell it was a budget breakdown.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“I’ll explain,” Daniel said.

He took a deep breath before dropping the bomb that turned my life upside down.

“I took some time to calculate how much you have cost me over the years together, and this is devastating,” he began. “By now, with this money, I could have bought a house or a private jet. But all I have is a wife sitting at home and living off me. I need you to pay it back to me before I start resenting you for all of my wasted potential.”

His words hit me like a physical blow. I was speechless.

After all the years I’d dedicated to their family, after all the sacrifices I’d made, he had the audacity to accuse me of wasting his potential. How could he do this to me?

This was so much more than a bad anniversary present; it was heartbreaking.

“Okay,” I managed to say. “I will pay you back, but only if you give me some time to figure out how.”

“Sure,” he said as he rose from his seat and turned around. “I can wait. I’m glad you understood what I wanted to say.”

“I understood more than you think,” I looked into his eyes. “But you better believe, this conversation isn’t over.”

Not only did Daniel waste the anniversary dinner reservation that evening, but he also broke my heart into a million pieces.

Looking at those papers, it was clear he’d calculated every penny he’d spent on me, including the groceries I’d bought to feed our family. I couldn’t believe the audacity of the man I’d married.

The final number scrawled at the bottom nearly took my breath away. $300,000.

That was supposedly the cost of my life with him over the past four years, after I’d given up my own career to raise Ben and manage our household.

Seeing those numbers on the document fueled a fire in my gut. He was going to learn a very expensive lesson.

Over the next few days, a simmering rage kept me company. While Daniel seemed oblivious and went about his routine as if nothing had happened, I spent my nights meticulously documenting the value of everything I’d contributed to our marriage.

The cooking, the cleaning, the emotional support… it all went on a spreadsheet. I even included the salary I’d sacrificed by choosing to be his stay-at-home wife.

The once lively atmosphere of our house had been choked by a thick silence. Daniel would try to make conversation, but my responses were clipped and short.

Suddenly, the man sleeping next to me at night felt like a stranger. How could I have given so much of myself to someone who saw me as a financial burden? I felt so disgusted with each passing hour.

Four days later, I faced him across the kitchen table again. However, this time I had a file clutched in my hand. My heart pounded in my chest as I placed it in front of him.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Your bill.”

He opened the folder, his eyes widening as he scanned the document. The total amount was scrawled at the bottom in bold. It was $500,000.

“This can’t be right,” he stammered, his voice laced with panic. “There’s no way…”

“There you go,” I interrupted. “Seems my contributions to this marriage were worth a bit more than groceries and rent, wouldn’t you say?”

He sputtered, speechless for once. The color drained from his face, leaving him pale and shaken.

“Ava, I… I never meant for things to get this way. I was just stressed, and…”

“Don’t,” I cut him off. “Respect and understanding are the pillars of any marriage, Daniel. And right now, all I see are cracks in the foundation.”

This wasn’t just about money anymore; it was about the very essence of our relationship. And as much as it pained me, I knew the truth. I knew I couldn’t stay with him anymore.

“I’ve already talked to my lawyer,” I continued, my voice firm. “We’re done, Daniel. We’re done.”

This whole ordeal taught me one thing loud and clear: my worth is more than a number on a spreadsheet, and I deserve to be with someone who sees that. What do you think?

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