Skip to main content

That's Not Fair


It was Samantha’s turn for a Time Out.

When the girls sit in the chair, I pretend to busy myself by cleaning in a nearby location. This tactical maneuver enables me to see when they get out of the chair (which is inevitable) and I can make a swift butt-to-chair replacement.

Both of my girls are natural negotiators and use time spent in T.O. to polish their skills. It’s not uncommon to hear:

“Mommy, you hurt my feelings!”

“Grown-ups need to listen to kids, too!”

“I’m sooo hungry!”

Yea, they’re that good -- well on their way to becoming professional manipulators. But Samantha, yesterday... well, that was too much. It’s possible she may have won.

I put her in the chair and set the timer. She cried as usual. “I don’t want to be in Time Out! I wanna get out!” This is standard T.O. ranting and I was ready for it. This is usually what they yell prior to their first escape attempt.

After I put her back in the chair, Samantha pulled out all the stops, however. At the top of her lungs, she cried as though her heart was breaking, “Mommy! I love you so much! I LOVE you SO MUCH! Mommy! MOMMY! I love you SOOO MUCH!”

Holy cow! That’s not fair. How am I suppose to punish that? After wailing like a jilted lover for half a minute, she yelled, “Mommy? Where are you? I can’t see you! I love you SO MUCH!”

She couldn’t see me anymore because I was holding my head and trying not to have a complete breakdown. It took every ounce of parenting willpower and a good dose of Super Nanny mental flashbacks to resist running in there, taking her into my arms and professing, “I’ll never, ever, put you in time out ever again. I LOVE YOU, TOO! You’re the light of my life, sweet baby!”

“Well, clearly she didn’t want to be in time out,” said Michael.

Yes, clearly.

But I wasn’t prepared. You’re not my friend, Mommy. I hate you, Mommy. I wanna cut off your head and feed it to the cat, Mommy. This I can handle. But gut-wrenching professions of love. Nope, can’t handle it.

So Samantha, next time you decide to be mean, pinch your mommy or knock your sister's project onto the floor on purpose and then refuse to pick it up and say you're sorry, I may be so full of your love that I’ll be unable to lift you into the Time Out chair. And when you’re 35 and still living at home or in jail because I didn’t have the cajones to punish you properly, just remember: you love me sooo much.

But, if by some miracle from the parenting Gods I manage to punish you anyway, just remember this: I love you sooo much, too.

Either way, you’re the light of my life, sweet baby.



Previous Comments

 
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

About This Blog

Right off the top, it's a goofy name. I was looking for a new name for my blog, and then one morning I had the following exchange with my husband. We were taking our daughter to preschool and found ourselves following a well-dressed mom wearing a cute little skirt and high heels. I tilted my head to one side like a puppy noticing something strange for the first time. Michael also tilted his head, but was thinking of something else. "How come you don't wear skirts and high heels to work?" he asked. "She must be freezing. It doesn't seem practical." "She doesn't seem to mind." "I suppose not." Two heads tilt to the other side. "Oh well, I guess I'm more of a cords and fleece kind of girl." Two heads straighten. And there you have it -- a blog title based entirely on what I like to wear in the wintertime. Talk about impractical. The former title was Domestic Irritation. I liked that title a lot -- i
Post a Comment
Read more

Adult Beginning Gymnastics Revealed

The only thing we have to fear, is fear itself. Well...yes and no . Sometimes what we fear turns out to be OK -- in fact, it turns out to be pretty damned fun. The squadron of peppy cheerleaders turns out to be an extremely quiet guy named Ron and a nice girl named Alison who looks like Hayley Mills (but doesn't know who Hayley Mills is). The gymnastics instructor turns out to be a nice young girl woman who is easy to talk to. And I turn out to be considerably less decrepit than originally feared. Of the three students (!), I'm definitely the oldest by more than a decade. However, I was surprised (and thrilled) to see how evenly matched we were. Where one student is flexible, the other is strong. What I lack in youth, I make up for in pointy toes and perky presentation. While I'm certainly not as fit as the other students, I am not miles behind in skill. (Maybe just a few blocks away.) The first class was primarily an assessment of our current capabilities, so we c
2 comments
Read more

Got No Class, Got No Clue

Soccer, kung fu, or gymnastics? Art, piano, or dance? Fencing? I want to enroll Elizabeth in some sort of class, but it's just not going well. I'm not sure if the problem is me... OK, it is me . Take ME out of the equation and the "problem" magically disappears. Lizzy is just not interested in joining a team or taking a class, and Michael isn't keen to sign her up (and thus spend money) for a class she won't enjoy or may not participate in fully. He has a point. We enrolled her in soccer last year, and while most kids ran up and down the field kicking their balls, Lizzy stopped to examine a flower. When the kids stood in "ready position" (standing in line with one foot atop their soccer balls), she sat on her ball at the end of the line. While other kids weaved their balls around little orange traffic cones, Lizzy picked up a cone, turned it upside, placed her soccer ball on top of it, and pretended to lick it like an ice cream cone. That is Lizzy i
7 comments
Read more