Mommy's Time Out!

If you should ever babysit Andy, and if Andy should ever use the potty while on your watch, I'm telling you right now:  Let Andy flush the toilet when he's done.  If you flush the toilet for Andy, he will lose his shit (I mean that on two levels because I'm a great writer!) and you're going to have a meltdown on your hands.

Today, I flushed the toilet for Andy.  Even though I knew better.  I can't help it; I see a toilet that needs to be flushed, and I just do it.  I take care of business; that's the kind of pro-active go-get-'em-ness that once made me a success in business.  In this situation, however, it was clearly a mistake, an overstep.  Andy immediately started crying, sobbing, "Mommy flushed my poo poo!" He was inconsolable, and I was at my wit's end.  The Hamburger Helper was almost ready, and I had only minutes to get this resolved.  I apologized.  I said, "Andy, I'm sorry."  And then I said, "Andy, do you want to give me a time out?"

Disclaimer:  It's probably not the best parenting tactic, letting the two year old hand out a time out.  But what the heck.  Every day is an experiment for us.  It's a real live laboratory around here.

The role reversal ensued.  Andy immediately perked up at the thought of giving me a time out, and his first instinct was to try and pick me up.  He wrapped his arms around my legs and hefted, hard. Surprisingly, I didn't budge, and I suggested, "Andy, why don't you take my hand?"  He grabbed my hand and led me to the time out spot in the front room, pushing me down onto the sofa.  He shook his index finger at me and ruffled his brow.  He said, "Mommy, you're in time out.  You flushed my poo poo.  Not nice.  Stay here."  And then he walked back into the kitchen where I heard him tell a very puzzled Alex, "Mommy's in time out.  She flushed my poo poo."

I waited, and I swear he kept me there for exactly two minutes, his time out time.  For the record, I don't actually time his time outs- it's more a free form idea of when I think two minutes have passed or when I'm done eating my sandwich, whichever comes first. When he came back to get me, he seemed very serious, as if he had made and consumed a sandwich when in actuality his knife skills are pretty poor.  He said, "Mommy.  Don't flush my poo poo."  Then, he cocked his head and asked, "You going to be nice now?"

This hand makes hamburger horrible.

"Yes, Andy," I said, keeping my straight face on.  He had this whole thing down.  I added, "I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have flushed your poo poo.  I won't do it again."

His face broke into a smile, and he leaned forward and kissed my cheek.  Then he said, "Come on!" and led me back into the kitchen.  "Mommy's out of time out," he told Alex, who I swear looked at me and silently asked, "Exactly what the hell is going on here??"

I finished the Hamburger Helper while Andy waited for dinner, seemingly pleased with how my first time out went down.  Then he tasted dinner, immediately spit it out, and proclaimed it the "wrong macaroni."  And for the second time in ten minutes, he was absolutely correct.

That stuff is gross.  And another two minutes for me!