Patience and punishment.

Sometimes you know you are doing the right thing, and it still feels wrong. Like when I’m putting Juliette straight to bed without books or TV or cuddle time for not getting dressed even after I told her for the 20th time that she should put her pj’s on right now and all she keeps doing is pulling out more books that she wants to read. Something about limiting her book reading time seems not right; and something about not having our nightly cuddle time seems equally a punishment to me as it is to her.

But as I kiss her goodnight, close the door and walk away, hearing her tell me “I luv you salami”*, melting my heart that she can be so generous and loving even when under punishement, I silently congratulate myself a little for setting an ultimatum and keeping to it. Because she is at that age, now, where she is constantly testing the limits, and sometimes it is too easy just to give in. But… and this is the big but with a capital B… I am really beginning to lose my patience.

Many people reading this post- my mother, especially- might laugh at that last sentence, and wonder out loud when I ever had any patience to begin with. I think parenthood brings out that virtue. It is either that, or go insane. Except, I think I am going insane anyway. As a result of this, and in an attempt to retain some semblance of sanity, Juliette has been getting into trouble far more often. I don’t argue or reason with her; one warning is all she gets. Time outs are occurring at least once a day; abbreviated bedtime rituals are occurring frequently. The other night, she even went so far as to tell me she wanted Daddy to put her to bed.

She has never asked for her Daddy at bedtime before. That has always been our little ritual; that and morning when she first wakes up- although I wouldn’t mind sharing that routine more often. In fact, and this is wrong I know, but when I’m really short tempered I’ll threaten her with “if you don’t behave right now I’m going to walk out of your room and Daddy will come put you to bed.” So when she actually asked for him, you might have thought I would have been shocked and my feelings hurt. Au contraire, shocked I was for sure, but I was relieved to be able to turn over the bedtime responsibility without a struggle for a change. I called Greg up, he came and had the sense not to argue or complain, and I went to my room to change into my own pjs and try and start to relax. A short while later Greg joined me, commenting on the great cuddle time he just shared with Juliette. Greg has finally discovered it. Cuddle time with Juliette- it is the icing on the cake, the reward for all the hard work, the calm that makes all the chaos dissipate into the dark peaceful twilight.

When I am sitting in the dark cuddling with Juliette I remember how small she is, and I think how miraculous she is, and I wonder if I am expecting too much from her. She is only three. So young! Today she complained that she didn’t want to be three anymore, and I asked her to please not to rush, she would grow up soon enough. And then I told her to put on her shoes and come outside to the car. Shoes, Juliette. Now. Put on your shoes, Juliette. Juliette, get your shoes. Do you want me to do it for you, or can you do it yourself? Juliette you have to wear shoes. You can’t go to preschool with bare feet. No I will not carry you. Juliette Elizabeth I am running out of patience, put on your shoes right now. I am going to count to three and if you don’t put your shoes on you are going for a time out. One….. Two….. Juliette, if I get to Three you are going for a time out… Two……

The problem with threatening a Time Out is that you have to get to Three sometime, and then you have to follow through with the timeout, even if you are late to work already and the whole point was to get her to move faster so you could leave the house.

…Three. OK, time out.

Well, at least I can have one more sip of my coffee.

*Oh, didn’t I tell you how creative my daughter is? Her new nickname for me is salami. “Who is salami, Juliette?” I ask her when she refers to me this way. “You are, salami!” “No I’m not Juliette!” I reply, “I’m Mommy!” “Mommy Salami” she giggles back. It’s the poet in her.