the time out chair
Written by patty on March 27th, 2009I heard the thud of the backpack making contact before I saw what happened. Muffled by the puffy ski jacket, the sound of backpack-to-flesh was nonetheless unmistakable.
Restless from endless (pointless) days of Connecticut Mastery Test-taking and no recess, my oldest was uncharacteristically violent with his brother that week. He swung his heavy backpack, stuffed to the brim with God knows what (he likes flat rocks), and landed a blow square against his brother’s shoulder.
For the first time in more than a year, I pointed to The Corner.
It had been so long since I sent either of my children to the time out chair. Twenty minutes later, it took an act of kindness from his little brother with the sore shoulder and the wounded pride to remind me I had to do something.
“Mommy,” he said tentatively, “he’s been in the chair for like an hour. Can he come out now?”
I approached the perp, easily twice bigger than he was the first time he sat in this chair. Doleful gold-flecked green eyes peered up at me. We were both out of practice.
“I don’t know if I should let you go yet. What would you do if you were the mommy?”
Shrugging his shoulders, he told me “I’m not the mom. I’m a kid.”
“Come on,” I replied. “I’ve been your mom for eight years. You must have learned something about what I’m like as a parent.”
A trace of a smile formed in his eyes and the grin took over his face.
“Tell me.”
He started laughing as he replied, “I’ve learned that you don’t take any shit.”
Fair point, funny first born.
We talked a about hurting people, about how using hands, backpacks and other projectiles hurts not just bodies but feelings too. About how his little brother is a sensitive soul, about how much more a blow hurts when it comes from someone we love.
The lesson of the time out chair reinforced one last time, we hugged. And I let him go.
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Cool, Patty! I know why I don’t have kids and you do!
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LOL! I’m hoping my girls realize I don’t take any shit, either!
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See – when used in the appropriate context, a curse word really can add to meaning.
Good job, mom.
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Aw. the perfect blend of bittersweetness….