[My apologies for missing yesterday’s tale. The kids shared their stomach virus, and it really doubled me over. I’ll probably miss tomorrow’s tale as well, so here’s a rare Thursday update.]

The other day, while I was sick, J had an altercation with her youngest son. The two boys were swatting at each other, and N was getting a little overly enthusiastic. J broke it up, but N kept right on going. After saying “no” a third time, it was time to bring out the big guns. “Okay, time out.”

“No!”

“Time Out!”

“No!”

So she picked him up and carried him over to time-out. As you might expect, he wasn’t happy. He threw himself on the ground in classic tantrum form. Tantrum during time-out is a mistake in our household. We stick to the rule: you’re in time-out for one minute per year of age – but the timer doesn’t start until you’re quiet.

As time crawled by, his big brother couldn’t stand it. He ran to his mom.

“Oh no! We have to save him! We have to save him! We have to save him from time-out!”

When she didn’t respond properly (and who would), he ran over and sat down outside the time out area. “Come on! We have to save you! Oh no!”

J intervened and kept the time out going. After the required time was up, N was released. With a big grin at his brother, he ran right back and sat down in time-out. “Time Out! Time Out!”

C looked up at his mom. “Oh No! We have to save him!”

I think time-out might be losing some of its effectiveness.