Discipline, or Lack Thereof

My apologies on this one large paragraph as Blogger doesn't want me to organize my thoughts in paragraphs. Here goes... Yes, it’s obvious that this site has become a picture depository rather than an actual blog. I don’t recap many stories, or offer advice. I stay clear of the challenging parts of parenthood for the most part. I post funny and cute photos. I resize and upload pictures of sentimental value so that friends and family can see what we did last weekend. I’ll be honest with you: I’m not good at disciplining our 3.5-year-old daughter. Discipline is my husband’s department. So the other night at dinner when she was being awful, I felt the urge to discipline. Did I mention my husband was away for work? This may or may not have been the reason for Jill’s behavior. Me: “Jill, please eat 3 more green beans and you can have more ravioli.” Jill: “1 more green bean, Mumma. Then you give me more rab-e-loli.” Back and forth a few times and I think we settled on 2 green beans. Me: “Sit nicely, please.” Jill kneels on the seat and almost knocks her milk off the table. She is obviously getting frustrated and can’t articulate the full story so she yells. I pick her up and offer a quick cuddle. Maybe my workday away is making Dad’s absence more painful. I didn’t know, but I thought I could help with a solid hug. Until Jill spit in my face. Yes, you read that correctly. I felt like a prisoner in Locked Up Abroad or a cop in a heated interrogation room. My sweet daughter just stuck out her tongue and blew spit. In my face. I looked to the left to Nana. (Tony’s Mom stayed at the house to help during his work trip.) I may have been in shock. Nana: “Timeout.” I pick Jill up and bring her to the living room and sit her firmly on the stairs (don’t worry, they’re carpet) and set the timer for 3 minutes. She screams and cries. Meanwhile I walk back to the dining room and ask Kim if that really just happened. Jill’s crying subsides about halfway through her timeout and I can hear her singing and giggling. A deliriously tired and grouchy toddler. My next steps are modeled by Tony’s parenting. Me: “Jill, we don’t kick, hit or spit in this house. You made Mommy very sad. Please say you won’t kick, hit or spit.” (or something like that) Jill mumbles quietly that she won’t kick, hit or spit again. Let's hope this is something we can laugh about in the future! Maybe Tony will tell the story to a high school boyfriend he doesn't like. We'll see.