Two Minutes

So I had a tough weekend. Partied hard. Little Man turned two on Saturday, complete with a fabulous birthday party where he wowed the guests with his manners, sharing ability and adorability. Then that evening I went out… ALL out and that pretty much never happens. The Man worked on Sunday because of the cable guy fiasco on Friday and we were all pretty much wrung out and cranky full. Of course by Sunday evening Little Man had, had his first time-out.

He was hitting and shoving his big sis. I asked him to stop, I attempted to redirect his attention, I called him by all three names. He just laughed at me. I had no choice people!!! So I gave him the warning "Little Man, you need to stop hitting your sister or I will put you in a time-out" He looked me right in the eyes, and his giant sparkly brown orbs twinkled at me, you know, the sign of the devil, and he turned back to his sister. THWACK, THWACK, THWACK. Got her with the ole windmill action.

I scooped him up and carried him over by the microwave, setting him down in the corner where the refrigerator meets the door to the garage, and set the timer for two minutes as I spoke to him. "You are having a time-out." The fact that our garbage pail sits there is coincidence and not intended as part of the punishment even if it does make it more effective both realistically and metaphorically.

"Why?" he asked, eyes huge. He's seen big sister get a time-out before. Actually, he's tried to bust Big Sis out of our little slammer twice, by pulling her by her arms, dragging her across the kitchen floor.

"For hitting." I told him sternly. Big Sis had followed us to the kitchen to see this, his first real punishment other than having the occasional toy put out of reach on the fridge for whacking people with it. To her credit, she tried hard to hold her glee in but the corner of her mouth was twitching crazily, her eyes glowed with the wonder of it all and she shuffled back n' forth on her feet like a house just landed on a witch in Little People Town. The Man admonished her to stay back and "let him have his time-out privacy" which nearly busted me up laughing. I guess The man figures time-out is like pooping. It must be the garbage can odor that has him confused.

Little Man tried to bolt three times. Each time I had to scoop him up and put him back in the corner with the reminder "You are in time-out." On the third time I didn't say anything, none of us would look at him and as the hubbub of dinner prep continued on without him the salty seriousness of his situation rose up in him, spilling out onto his cheeks.

"Mama?" he questioned, and his little voice trembled. "Mama, why?" he asked and still I wouldn't turn around. Then, finally he said "Daddy?" and when The Man continued tending to the food on the stove top Little Man dissolved into pitiful, heartbroken tears. I could hardly take it. It was a long two minutes.

Finally the microwave timer went off with it's cheerful 'let's eat popcorn sounds' and I lifted Little Man into my arms to explain again. "You had a time-out for hitting your sister."

"Yes." he agreed

"No more hitting, okay?"

"Yes." he snuggled into my neck with his arms tightening around me for a bear hug. Big Sister was not impressed with the punishment.

"How long was he in there?" she demanded

"Two minutes." I told her and dared her with my eyes to question it. We give time-outs based on the age of the kid around here, not the severity of the crime. About half an hour later he started kicking.

"Little Man, no kicking!" I told him.

"Time-out?" he asked me wonderingly.

"That's right." I told him. "If you kick people you will have a time-out."

And so a new era has been ushered in.

*sigh*