My son turned 2 a few weeks ago, and we all know what that means … the inevitable “terrible 2s,” which associate strongly with tantrums, pushing all our buttons (and then some), finicky eating, turning on a dime from happy-go-lucky to wailing and flailing, and on the flip side, adorable, funny behavior that melts our hearts. Speaking of behavior, there’s another thing that goes along with this interesting little age: that semi-modern form of discipline called the “time-out.” And boy, am I struggling with it. No, I’m not struggling with actually giving him the said time-out, because he surprisingly goes along with it without a hitch. And it’s not about mommy guilt, either, although there are many occasions when I see his teary eyes staring at me through the slats of the dining room chair and I have to look away for fear I’m not only going to let him get up after 3 seconds, but also let him continue to perform the horrendous behavior that got him in trouble in the first place. So nope, it’s not really the giving of the time-out. It’s that I actually wish someone would give me a time-out. Yup, I think I want a time-out, too, thanks. In fact, I’ll take several, if given the opportunity. Who wouldn’t?
Think about it. A time-out isn’t supposed to be a form of punishment. It’s intended to take the child away from whatever sparked the meltdown or limits-pushing activity in favor of some quiet time. Going further in my little study of the said time-out, the goal is to defuse and redirect an “escalating situation” in a non-violent, unemotional way. Hmmm. This sounds pretty good to me. Calming and peaceful … like lazily sunning myself in a field of lavender and daisies, dancing with unicorns and chasing a giant rainbow, with a huge bowl of mint chip ice cream at the end of it. Oh, sorry. I’m digressing. But come on now … how many of you super-busy, stressed-out parents would love to have even 3 minutes to sit in a chair, anywhere, even in a dark room without a window, just to regroup and redirect an escalating situation?
Think about an escalating situation at work, where someone’s breathing down your neck with an unreasonable request and all you can think about is responding with your middle finger? You hold back on gesturing in this manner, but you probably start to argue, tossing in a hint of sarcasm, some eye-rolling, a cluck or two (mixed in with a snort), and possibly a threat to pack up and resign. Now, where would that get you? A possible demotion or a good old-fashioned pink slip, most likely. In this economy, who can take that kind of risk? Now, if someone would just come around prior to the vicious retort with a referee’s whistle and shriek, “TIME OUT!” perhaps the situation would deflate and no one would get hurt. You’d go to another room and sit quietly in a corner, breathe in and out several times, possibly meditate for a bit, and then when all is said and done, you’d walk away a bit frustrated and muttering curses to yourself, but you’d have sense enough to grin and bear it, being you had a few minutes of quiet time to calm your racing nerves.
Now think about an escalating situation with a spouse, sibling, other family member, or friend. How many times have you regretted lashing out at someone and spewing poison (well, not the liquid kind, but rather in verbal form)? If someone would just jump in between the two of you and demand a time-out, it’d avoid most of the confrontations that cause so many of us to lose sleep at night and color our sprouting gray hairs every six weeks.
How about a time-out “just because”? I kind of like the idea of removing myself from most situations I’m in on a daily basis, to sit quietly and calmly all by myself, even just to daydream or mentally concoct a grocery list.
Do you see my point? I just hope our little ones don’t get the drift that time-outs are actually desirable and in their simplest sense, a positive experience. Because if my little guy gets wind of that, I would imagine he’d come up with more reasons to manipulate me into serenading his little elf self into the time-out chair, and honestly, I use enough wet paper towels on a daily basis to clean up tossed syrup-soaked waffle chunks and chewed-up chicken nuggets off the floor, and my 11-year-old sheltie really doesn’t need any more ear-pulling, karate chop hits, and round-house kicks followed by very obnoxious, impish giggling. Nope, we just can’t let them in on the time-out secret. Let them pout for a few years, and when they’re all grown up and have little time for quietly defusing an escalating situation, they, too, will fantasize about someone ordering them into a time-out chair and never, ever breathe a word of this delightful experience to their little ones. Aw, revenge. It tastes so sweet. Especially in syrup form, poured on waffles, and tossed on the already sticky kitchen floor. Gotta go … that’s grounds for a TIME-OUT!
facebook
twitter
rss 
