Year of Writing 27

1/27/12

Today Isla got in trouble. It was nothing big, she just stopped listening to mommy and daddy. Normally, if something like this happens, she just goes to her room for two minutes, explains what she did or didn't do, then it's all good. This time was different. We were at a restaurant (the worst possible place you can be with two children under the age of 18), trying to wolf down some asada picada and enchiladas before Miles lost his shit, when Isla decided that she didn't like her chair anymore, or her shoes. Tegan reminded her gently, "we wear shoes in a restaurant because the floor is really dirty," then "please get back in your chair, the waiter is carrying something really hot."

Response: "no."

Counter: "I'm not asking you, Isla, Mommy told you to get into your chair while your eating."

Response: "I don't like chairs."

Counter: "I am going to count to three. You need to be in that chair or else we will leave now, and you will have time out at home for THREE MINUTES" (at this point it is important to note how previously I said at home her time out is two minutes). "one, two, three."

Response: going prone across all chairs so that Tegan can't sit down. (note to future Isla: if Mom is already pissed off, DON'T PUSH HARDER! )

At this point Tegan marches Isla out to the car with Miles, leaving me with three quarters of a plate of food, some random stuffed animals that had accompanied Isla to this restaurant, and a diaper bag. "Uh, could I get this stuff boxed up and the check please?"

When I got to the car, all hell had broken loose. Isla was sobbing inconsolably, and looking for commiseration, howled: "My mommy said I h h have to b b be in t t time out for three m m minutes when we get hoooooooome! Waaaaaaaaaaaa!" Dang! Talk about your rough punishments. I responded like any good hard ass father would: "Isla, your Mommy and I love you very much, and we always will, no matter what. Sometimes the things that you do are not safe or not very nice, and that's when you have to go to time out." Reasonable, right?

No.

Now she really starts wailing - which continues the rest of the way home. However, now somehow the 3 minute time out has morphed into "I don't get any dessert or treats for two weeks," What? "I don't get dinner for 30 weeks." What?! "I don't get any love for any weeks at aaaaalllllllll!" Ok, hold on drama queen. All you have to do is go upstairs and sit on your bed for 180 seconds while you read a book or some crap, seriously. No love for any weeks? What the hell?

Then we got home, and she screamed herself all the way upstairs and yelled INTO the baby monitor so we would understand just how completely unfair the situation was. Tegan and I now had exactly 3 minutes to eat the dinner we had abandoned at the restaurant - it tasted like defeat. Down comes Isla Hannah Gardner, puffy eyes, looking like she just watched an Old Yeller marathon. She says: "I'm calm now. Who wants to read me Supermarket Mystery?"

I do, Isla. Come on.