Mr. OCD-- and his jilted mother

I've told you about my young boy, who, incidentally turned 3 a few weeks ago (yes, I missed the post, and yes, I forgot to take the camera ice-skating with us. . .  .shame on me, shame on me, shame on me- but I would like to report the Olympic Oval was delightful and of all my kids, Roger had the most fun because he thought it was fun to fall and wasn't expecting to master anything on his first try).  This young man brings joy and delight to my life in the form of giggles, his rapt attention to all things car, his silly imagination, his loving snuggles and kisses, and his eyes--seriously, the kid has the big blues that just dare you to deny him his request.  He is definitely 3 going on 7 and this shows as he parrots EVERYTHING that comes out of the twins' mouths. 'Jingle bells, batman smells. . . . . . .Sniff my bu**(from a Scooby-doo movie). . . and Me first.'

I will now regale you with the tale of this young man and the shady practices of his mother.  I was minding my own business this morning about 7:00 A.M.  I had brought the baby into my bed to snuggle with around 6:30 and we were both in the happy place that is not quite sleep and not quite awake, when I was jolted up by screaming from the bathroom.  It was Roger-dodger.  I would like to say that his screaming was uncommon and surprising, but, sadly, this young man has a tough spirit and a strong will (aka, his screaming at all hours of the day is not un-normal), and he has the voice of a opera-singer.  My mom informs me his loud voice will be good someday, but for now, I'm not sure if I agree. I think it is a weapon. A very effective weapon, especially in public forums where I have been known to give-in to his request rather than deal with his tantrum.  I know, this is right out of the chapter on 'How NOT to discipline your toddler.

I ran to the bathroom, tripping over toys on the way to see what was the fuss.  Roger was upset because Eliza had reached the bathroom first and relieved herself before him. "I wanna go pee first!" He kept repeating over and over.  I knew I must act quickly because when Roger gets into one of his fits, he often loses control of his bladder.  I tugged down his pants and hoisted him up while I declared, "That's okay, it's your turn to pee now." He kept screaming while he went and just wouldn't give up.  He didn't find his usual joy in flushing and just wouldn't stop.  "I wanna peepee first, I wanna peepee first!" 

I tried to explain to him that you need to use the bathroom when you go and Eliza had to go, but my common-sense did nothing to suppress his fit.  Big surprise, eh?  It was time to move on to the consequence.  I told Roger he had to stop crying, the deeds (or the pees) were done, and if he couldn't "find his happiness," he would have to go outside.  He didn't relent.  So, I took him out back and closed the door.  And locked the door.  And breathed a sigh of relief.  About one minute later, there was a loud knock on the door (Roger had been crying very loudly that whole minute), and my neighbor was standing out back.

"Hi, I was just afraid that Roger had gotten locked out somehow."

"Yeah.  I locked him out.  He was in time-out."  I declared matter of factly.  My neighbor raised his eyebrows.  I tried to explain, "He wanted to go pee first this morning and got upset."

"Oh, he wet his pants?"

"No he wanted to pee first and wouldn't stop crying."

"Okay," he said (what he didn't say was, 'Whatever. You locked your kid out of the house.'). "I just wanted to make sure he was okay."

"Thanks for looking out for us."

Roger had since slipped past us and stopped crying. Stinker.

So, now the neighbor is aware of my evil disciplining methods.  I'm kindof embarrassed.  Kind of.