Little Runaway
The kid had a rough day at daycare on Thursday. Her age group went on a field trip to a planetarium, boarding two small buses to get there. Apparently my child thought it would be a good use of her time to smack one of her fellow passengers on the way back to Kindercare. A's regular teacher happened to be on the bus behind the one A was on. Miss Heather saw her lean all the way across the aisle to clock this other kid (more than once, apparently). A caused enough of a ruckus that the bus driver would have stopped the bus had they not been on the highway.
So, needless to say, this episode was recounted to me when I picked up my daughter after work. On the way home, I advised her that her punishment would be no TV that evening. She began to wail. "Not even a mooooooovie?" Ah no, you may not watch anything that might appear on a screen of any type. I told her she was welcome to hang out in her room and read.
She cried all the way home. "I don't like this punishment, Mom!"
"Then it's perfect,"I told her.
When we got home, she seemed determined to be miserable all evening. She went out in the back yard and moped around. I went out to water some flowers and saw her fiddling with the latch on the gate, mumbling something about running away. "If you're going to run away, please go out the front door. I don't want you letting the dogs out." She stomped back into the house, but her dad was blocking the front door with the ironing board (yes, he irons). He told her she'd have to wait until later to run away.
About an hour later, she was in the back yard again. This time, she succeeded in opening the gate. When I came upon the scene, she was just standing in the open fence, watching my dogs run down the street. Argh! I told her to go in the house and I'm pretty sure she knew from the tone of my voice that if she was in trouble before, now she was REALLY in trouble. She started trying to tell me that she hadn't let the dogs out. Well, unless the dogs sprouted thumbs in the last day or two, it wasn't them who opened the latch.
I ran in the house and grabbed the treat jar and a stack of American cheese. I shook the treat jar and started yelling for the dogs. I know from experience that chasing dogs is an exercise in futility. Kaiser (my foster dog) came back first. Good boy, Kaiser! I put him back in the yard. Gideon and Gretchen ran in circles and made a few passes in my vicinity before submitting to the captivating allure of cheese.
As for the kid, the evening included a few more bursts of pouting and petulance. Then she made this sign and tacked it up on the wall (I think the rainbows and stars make it extra special, don't you?)
So, needless to say, this episode was recounted to me when I picked up my daughter after work. On the way home, I advised her that her punishment would be no TV that evening. She began to wail. "Not even a mooooooovie?" Ah no, you may not watch anything that might appear on a screen of any type. I told her she was welcome to hang out in her room and read.
She cried all the way home. "I don't like this punishment, Mom!"
"Then it's perfect,"I told her.
When we got home, she seemed determined to be miserable all evening. She went out in the back yard and moped around. I went out to water some flowers and saw her fiddling with the latch on the gate, mumbling something about running away. "If you're going to run away, please go out the front door. I don't want you letting the dogs out." She stomped back into the house, but her dad was blocking the front door with the ironing board (yes, he irons). He told her she'd have to wait until later to run away.
About an hour later, she was in the back yard again. This time, she succeeded in opening the gate. When I came upon the scene, she was just standing in the open fence, watching my dogs run down the street. Argh! I told her to go in the house and I'm pretty sure she knew from the tone of my voice that if she was in trouble before, now she was REALLY in trouble. She started trying to tell me that she hadn't let the dogs out. Well, unless the dogs sprouted thumbs in the last day or two, it wasn't them who opened the latch.
I ran in the house and grabbed the treat jar and a stack of American cheese. I shook the treat jar and started yelling for the dogs. I know from experience that chasing dogs is an exercise in futility. Kaiser (my foster dog) came back first. Good boy, Kaiser! I put him back in the yard. Gideon and Gretchen ran in circles and made a few passes in my vicinity before submitting to the captivating allure of cheese.
As for the kid, the evening included a few more bursts of pouting and petulance. Then she made this sign and tacked it up on the wall (I think the rainbows and stars make it extra special, don't you?)
Comments
"You sud b a ltl bit ncr."
Translation: You should be a little bit nicer.
I still think I probably had a point.