Posts Tagged ‘
time out ’
Wednesday, June 26th, 2013
2 years, 7 months.
Three months ago, I told about how you willingly put yourself in time-out as punishment for accidentally hitting my leg while I was getting you dressed one morning… then you tried to escape from being in time-out!
Well, Mommy told me how this week you’ve been pulling a similar, yet almost opposite stunt.
You announce to Mommy, “I want to be in trouble.”
Of course, that means you can’t watch any of your shows on Netflix or any monster truck clips on the laptop.
It would be ironic if it weren’t for the fact that it’s your attempt at avoiding getting dressed.
There’s definitely some circular reasoning in this story I’m trying to sort out:
You don’t want to get dressed, so you want to be in trouble to be put in time-out, which then makes it more difficult to get dressed since you’re supposed to sit alone in the corner.
However, you still have to get dressed anyway, but if you don’t listen to Mommy as she’s trying to help you get dressed, there’s a good chance you’ll end up in time-out.
Ultimately, two things are inevitable: Getting dressed and time-out.
Of course, there’s the both reasonable and practical option:
Let Mommy get you dressed without a fight, then she’ll let you watch Netflix or monster trucks on the computer.
I really look forward to the day that getting you dressed is no longer a struggle.
But then, you might not provide me with funny stories of the illogical situations you get yourself into.
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Monday, May 13th, 2013
2 years, 5 months.
You have officially learned to spit. That’s both a good and a dangerous thing.
It’s good because it’s an important part of brushing your teeth. It’s a dangerous thing because I have to trust that you’re not going to spit at an inappropriate time or place.
I guess I make it more alluring for you to want to spit because over the past couple of months, I have taken up the Indian folk remedy of “oil pulling.”
Yes, I know it sounds weird. But two or three times a week on the drive to school, I swish coconut oil around my mouth for 20 minutes (it helps serve as a natural mouthwash and preventative of headaches for me) and then at the Nippers Corner crossing, I spit the coconut oil out my car window.
I always feel bad for whoever’s in the car behind me, especially if it’s a woman. I’m sure they assume I just got sick.
Each morning as you and I are getting ready to leave the house, you always ask me, “You gonna put that stuff in yo’ mouth?”
Watching me do my oil pulling is normal to you by now. However, I don’t think you’re totally clear on when it’s okay to spit.
With that being said, this past weekend on Mother’s Day, when Mommy told you that you couldn’t have a 2nd granola bar, but instead that you’d have to eat more of the main lunch she prepared for you, you acted like you were about to spit at her.
After I put you in a time-out session providing me with enough time for finish my own lunch, I had you apologize to Mommy:
“I sorry, Mommy.”
You saw how important it was for you to apologize, so then about 10 minutes later, you apologized to Mommy again.
Within the hour, you had begun using “I sorry, Mommy” as a new way to ask for things.
“I play with Play-Doh? I sorry, Mommy.”
I guess it’s an interesting spin on the saying, “It’s easier to ask forgiveness than to ask permission.”
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Saturday, August 25th, 2012
I am convinced that the best way to get someone to stop nagging you with their wrong opinion in regards to unsolicited parenting advice is just to simply smile and respond with, “You may be right.”
If they still go on rambling in an attempt to convert you, just said it again; this time raising your eyebrows and smiling even bigger.
You can even throw in peripheral phrases like “I think I might have read a blog about that recently” or “I’ll have to check that out.”
We live in a time when “I don’t agree with you” translates to some people as “I hate you.”
So if a person is already passionate about a polarizing parenting topic that I either A) already have a strong opinion on or B) am indifferent about, I’d rather just move on as quickly as possible to the next conversation topic, as opposed to becoming the next victim of a parenting extremist‘s solicitation speech.
Sometimes it’s just too much hassle to admit with someone that you disagree with them.
I don’t mean to sound like a person without passion and conviction. Because I am very passionate about the things that matter to me; likewise, I am extremely indifferent about the things I don’t care about or care to change.
“You may be right” is clever because it is also undeniably true.
No matter how firmly set I am in my opinions and stances on things like the kind of food I feed my kid or how I choose to discipline him, I could easily be wrong.
I am aware of that at all time. Whether the experts and scientific research support my view or not, still, I may be wrong.
Therefore, the other person with a different perspective as mine may very easily be right.
How arrogant of me to assume that I’m right most of the time about stuff. Or even half the time.
I might as well just assume, at best, I’m only right 49% of the time.
Granted, I want to be right, but I overanalyze stuff a lot.
Like when I half-jokingly wrote a post about hand-cuffing my son on the way to time-out.
It just seems weird to me that in the eyes of parents like me who are “non-spankers” it’s okay to discipline your child by physically restraining them by exiling them to time-out, as opposed to physically striking them.
Yet somehow the idea of taking physical restraint a step further and putting handcuffs on your kid is absurd.
I see double standards there. I see norms based on tradition. And I question that. I question myself.
So, I may be wrong about a lot of my parenting perspectives. The other people may be right.
And when I give them confirmation of that, it helps skip the annoying conversation topic I don’t want to be involved in, like a chapter on a DVD.
I’m such an impatient Millennial parent.
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