Rules

So one of the things we've been working on lately with The Boy is The Rules. You know, once a kid hits two they can understand right from wrong, and when a kid hits 2.00001, they start testing those constraints. Ad nauseum, until they are, I don't know, twenty five or so? Anyway things around these parts have come to such a head that we are instituting the Time Out. This isn't a parenting scheme we were terribly keen on, but the parent-ignoring and rule-breaking was getting to the point that something had to be done, and so far we are anti-spanking. So far.

Anyway, so time outs in this house happen in the bedroom, which is fine. Ours, which has no toys in it, for the most part, and are greeted with howls of outrage. In fact lately we have had so much outrage against the timeout that merely threatening it prevents some of the more egregious behaviour. So, you know, problem solved. 

However.

The one thing that I've read about only children -- even children who are just only for a short while, until a smaller sibling arrives on the scene -- is that they don't realize at first that they are children. They are merely short adults, and so the rules and the edicts within the house apply to everyone, equally.

You see where I'm going with this, right?

This evening as we sat playing while waiting for dinner to cook, The Boy and I were making train tracks, and there was a cat brush lying on the floor in the way. I casually picked it up and tossed it a few feet into the cat basket. And there was a sudden silence. 

"Mommy! No throwing! You need a time out!"

And he very seriously and sternly led me to the bedroom so we could have this. He even shut the door behind me.

Me? Well, you know. My book's in the bedroom. I could have stayed there all night. But shhhhh! Don't tell HIM that.