And after a body search, there were no homemade weapons or prison tats

Remember my brief mention about primate feces yesterday? Well, it officially hit the fan.

It IS the dog days of summer. From here on in, until all three have Postal Codes of their own, the end of summer will be a behavioral nightmare. This gives me a moment to think about every parents bane: discipline.

Whenever I read a new take on this practice (especially when I am at my wits end, and that much closer to losing "it") you can see me, book in hand, rolling my eyes. Its predictable. There is some qualifying statement about discipline - that is latin derivative means to learn, and it ought not be about punishment. Can you see me? Yes, I am rolling my eyes again.

So, now that beating kids with a belt is thankfully out of fashion, we have been given a few options. The most and least popular being time out. Once upon a time, I was paying big bucks for a full psychological early learning profile on Owen. And I was given lots of great advice on how to do a time out properly. And trust me folks - I am as consistent as they get. I let nothing slip by. Owen's goal in life is to test every single boundary, repeatedly. Someday this may come in handy. In the meantime, I will continue to bang my head against the wall in frustration.

Implementing the time out system was nothing short of torture, on my part. First there is the warning. When it enters Owen's ear and is translated in his brain means "do it again, and show mom how you enjoy it!". Then there is the announcement "Time Out". That means, run away as fast as your little legs can carry you. Did I mention that Owen can outrun me? Then there is the escorting to the time out - and getting Owen to sit in said spot. Communicating that he gets MORE time for not sitting, somehow does not enter his thought stream. And then there is the constant policing to actually sit in the chair. And being quiet. This of course means dropping whatever you are involved in and focusing on Owen 100% of the time. I heard the voice of the psychologist, echoing in my memory " The purpose of the time out it to give the child no attention. Give him lots of positive reinforcement when he demonstrates good behavior and ignore him in time out". Right.... The pre-time out build up takes no less than 30 minutes. And this is for a minute of every year of age. So 30 minutes for a 5 minute time out...makes no sense in the end. I persist.

Mastering the time out learning curve took months. Now that Owen can be timed out, and he does not need 25 extra minutes of tacked on time for not listening, I suspect that they are no longer effective. I think he has outgrown them. What the flying bleep am I going to do?

Yesterday, I went downstairs to start some laundry. Something didn't quite smell right. A month ago, we scrubbed that basement until it was pinefresh. With the dehumidifyer, the basementy odour has dramatically subsided. I looked at the drain. Wet. I knew it. The boys have been pissing down the floor drain again. At that moment, I nearly lost my mind. I sent the boys to their room for 2 1/2 hours. At that moment I had some time to reflect. Aidan toddled upstairs, and I was wondering what the heck to do with him. I couldn't really leave, and play with him outside, since Owen and Harry need constant supervision in the time out. Aidan went to his room. And fell asleep.

It was 2 hours of bliss actually. No kids. Nice.

I have never been an advocate of the Prison system. I don't think it is an effective deterent for crime, nor do I think it works all that well as a punishment. I felt like a mini prison warden and my kids were in lock-down. Is this method effective, or a way of indoctrinating our children at an early age about the prison system? What sort of a loser parent am I anyway? I keep thinking about all the granola moms who merely need to say "I don't think that was very appropriate " and the child is in immediate compliance. That child then organizes a neighbourhood wide bottle drive and gives the proceeds to charity. I have kids who piss down the basement drain.
And now they are in Kiddie Jail.

After their sentence, the kids came down stairs. Harry came to me, gave me a hug and said "Mommy I am sorry, I won't pee down there again". Owen, who is not as touchy-feely, came up "Give me a high five" and then offered his appologies. I was amazed. And after a body search, there were no homemade weapons or prison tats. Imagine that...

I am so confused...