Tales from the crib

I just got home a little bit ago from hanging out with My Boys. Spending time with them always proves to show me the full range of my emotions. And how many of them I can actually emote within a 5 minute span.

Let’s just say the boys are almost 2 and almost 5 and they are really good at it. Their mama and I have said it once, and we’ll say it again…they are lucky they are the cutest children who have ever lived.

The other day W was sitting at the table eating a little snack and decided that it would the most fun ever to throw his food onto the floor. I lovingly reminded him, “Buddy, we eat our food, and we don’t throw food on the floor.” I mean sure you look like a little curly, blonde-haired angel dropped straight from Heaven with cuteness for days.

But we have rules, man.

So, he was clearly informed that if he threw it down again, he was going to go to the time-out chair. Well, shock of all shocks, he threw it down again. Despite the fact that he cocked his head to the side and let loose a smile that stretched from ear to ear (his signature “I know that was wrong, but look how adorable I am” move), off we went to time-out. Oh the tears and drama as I walked away and told him to stay put because he was in trouble.

We follow directions around here, mister.

Then my heart crumbled into a million pieces as he just sat there. Bottom lip quivering. A single tear rolling down his face. The yells of “sa-wee, Nen Nen, sa-wee!” rang out as I walked around the corner to take the clothes out of the dryer.

As I unloaded, I wondered if I should have just let it slide. It’s just food on the floor for crying out loud. He probably would have gotten down on all fours like a puppy dog and eaten it all up if I had suggested the idea. Where do I draw the line between being the crazy babysitter who is fun and silly—-singing “Home on the Range” in a british accent and dancing in the kitchen—-to the diciplinarian who wants to make sure they mind me on the little things. That way, when the big things like crossing the street come along they don’t get squished like a bug, as B would say.

I kept battling my conscience, feeling terrible that I had hurt the little man’s feelings. I just knew he was around the corner crying. Probably wondering where is Jen Jen? why did she leave me? doesn’t she love me? About that time, I realized that I actually heard no crying at all.

I came around the corner to find him sitting his the time-out rocking chair. Reading a magazine.

He was real torn up about the whole thing, really.


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