Sorry if this is incoherent, my precious snowflakes passed along their intestinal plague and I haven’t had alcohol or coffee for three days. Or food. Really, though, it’s the first two that hurt. I feel faint.
I was reading a bedtime story to my eldest, sitting on “the couch that shall not be touched.” I gave her a kiss on to top of her precious head. She stood up. Her backside was covered in little melty globs of chocolate. So was my couch.
I started screaming. “What the…why is there chocolate on your pants!?? Why is there CHOCOLATE ON MY COUCH!???”
She looked mildly chagrined. “I was hungry,” she said.
The chocolate chips, keep in mind, are not within easy reach. She had to do some serious cabinet scaling to get up there. Apples and carrots are much more accessible. Hungry my ass.
She was banned from all media for the next day. I go easy on first offenses, it’s true.
Two Nights Later:
I’m sitting on the same couch, painstakingly cleaned with q-tips and alcohol, watching the Daily Show while my precious snowflakes try to kill each other in their bedroom. There’s a lull in the chaos. Perhaps they’ve fallen asleep, I think. Then I catch the skittering of a giant rat in the kitchen.
“Madness,” I call. Silence. Then a thump. I’m up and in the kitchen in nothing flat, just it time to see her disappear around the corner. I chase her down and catch her frantically trying to climb into bed and, I imagine, feign sleep. She is not that fast. She is stuffing a handful of candy eggs under her pillow.
Lesson she learned from the last time: Candy covered chocolate melts in your mouth, not on your pajamas.
No Media, plus ZERO sweets for a full month. No ice cream, no Easter Candy, no treats of any kind. She had to clean her room and write a letter of apology. A nice one. With a picture.
At the end of the month of punishment, SHE DID IT AGAIN.
She doesn’t gnash her teeth or protest in the least when she’s punished. It’s more of a, “Well, that’s the price of getting caught!” as she skips away and finds something else to do with her time. The no media thing punishes ME more than it does her. She does not care.
Seriously, we were in the car once after a long fun day and I finally lost it and yelled, “If you squeak that balloon animal one more time I will take it away and pop it!” After a thoughtful pause, she tossed it into the front seat. “You better just take it now,” she said. She was three. She cannot be bribed. She does not respond to threats.
I’m reaching out to the Internet. Short of physical abuse, which is not my style, who has some fun ideas for consequences? I got nuthin.