I stepped into a meeting the other day and had a rude awakening.
Apparently while here with us at the office recently, my son – who can normally be left alone for periods of time while we work and draw and play quite nicely by himself, had gone and left his mark, quite literally, in pen, on some of our office chairs.
Don’t you love how SMALL he wrote his name? Like he totally KNEW he was being a complete punk?
But more so, don’t you love how the mind of a near-5 year old works? In that he wrote his own nickname, “Dex,” clearly indicating the culprit?
The least he could have done was write “Daddy” and try to shift the blame elsewhere.
Needless to say, he got into a shitload of trouble over it. We had a long talk about it. He felt like crap. When I asked him why he did it, he pulled the “I don’t know” card. (Mom, stop smirking). I told him if I could not get the stain off the chairs, he would have to help pay for a new chair. You should have seen his eyes when I told him how much a new chair costs. Bwaaa haaa haa! That will teach you for embarrassing me in the middle of an all-staff meeting, little buckarro!
The other punishment we came up with? Well, I usually try to have the punishment fit the crime, but we are so swamped we don’t have time for him come in and do hard time scrubbing chairs. So, I pulled the inverse.
I took away his squeegee for a week.
Have I mentioned that my child is like a miniature Felix Ungar? And that every effing night he cleans our back window. With his beloved squeegee.
Don’t you love that it’s effective punishment for me to take away my kid’s CLEANING SUPPLIES?
Mess with the bull, kid… you get the horns.