Yoga, Spitting and My WMD

I made it to yoga again this morning. Two weekdays in a row (Monday and Friday definitely counts, right?) is a major accomplishment. Hardest part? Other than the overtly sadistic 6am handstand/inversion work, the difficulty I have is not the early hour, and it’s not overcoming my own laziness, which is admittedly substantial. It’s leaving before anyone’s awake.

As crappy as some mornings can be, I love the early snuggle time. I love chatting with the Kaiser while I put on makeup. I love making sure his day gets off to a good start. Like his father, the Kaiser likes to wake slowly, gently. And with him at least (granted, I have far less patience with the larger morning troll), I don’t mind the quiet, leisurely wakey wake.

Oh, Lord. As I’m writing an exceptionally nice blog about the Kaiser, my girlfriend, Karen, IMs me. Seems our little boys, best pals and in the same preschool class, have unleashed a full-fledged campaign of terror in K3.

Karen: Oh. BTW, you and I need to have a talk.
Me: Oh Lord. Is this about Twilight?
Karen: No, not Twilight (but you did make me cry). I’m talkin’ bout our little shits for kids.
Me: I know. Spitting. I think this was CT’s doing. Kid has been spitting like a redneck.
Karen: And missing outside play and not listening and so on… Yours and mine are the only ones who get time out.
Me: Whoa now. They don’t get to play outside? That’s fucking fascist.
Karen: I spoke to Miss Tina for a long time and then went and spoke to Beckey for a little bit.
Sara: God. Call me in a minute.
Karen: Is it bad that I’m so lazy I don’t even want to talk?

New strategy. Better, bigger, meaner strategy. I put the Kaiser in bed shortly after my brief chat with Karen. Before I pulled out the Thomas the Tank Engine books and tracing workbook, the Spitting Banshee and I had a little heart to heart.  This is far more tedious than it sounds; whenever I sound stern, the kid refuses to make eye contact. He gives me the googly eyes and lolls his tongue around like he’s in a lecture-induced coma. Nonetheless, I think he got my meaning because I pulled out the big guns. From here til ….. as long as it takes, every day I find out he’s been in time out, he loses a train. If he’s been in time out three times, well, pal, say goodbye to Thomas, Percy and Gordon. When has a good day, he can earn one back. Oh, I need to work out the logistics of this.

Byeeee, Thomas.

Byeeee, Thomas.

At the rate he’s going, he’ll be trainless in two weeks.



Filed under Raising Kids

2 responses to “Yoga, Spitting and My WMD

  1. Start putting really wierd stuff in his school bag. ie. tub of butter, wad of q-tips, remote control handbook, etc..

    If teacher says nothing, you snicker to yourself. (Another day of self entertainment.)
    If teacher says something, tell her he gets to bring whatever he sleeps with at night. And when she/he looks at you in confusion, say, “What? I do it.”

    The stink’s behavior will become elucidated. No more time out. Right?

  2. sarafraser

    Wow. Has anyone told you (lately) that you’re an evil genius. Consider yourself complimented.

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