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We went to a friend's birthday party the other night at a local Mexican chain restaurant, and it reminded me just how gross little girls are. Two of them there decided it was hilarious to mix their rice and beans together and then add strange ingredients, challenging one another to eat their new creations. An 11-year-old boy used his post-meal time to practice belching his name and the alphabet. My son and his 2-year-old friend (who is much bigger than my nearly 4-year-old) played with toy trains at the table.
This was, of course, an occasion to celebrate an adult's birthday. But like anytime you try to gather 17 or so people in a restaurant, it's hard to converse with the whole group. Somehow, the Petite Filet and I wound up babysitting the youngest in our group. That's OK, I guess, but it was a bit annoying. Our other friends there are ones we see briefly every week or so, but it's been a long time since we all got together.
Making things worse was the fact that these were church friends (Baptist church friends) and two are recovered alcohols. I bet a margarita or three would have made babysitting a whole lot funnier. But then I don't drink anymore these days, anyway.
Aside from the party, we've learned the effectiveness of using the egg timer to get our spawn to get moving. This weekend we stretched the limits of its uses with splendid results.
We're using the light brown kitchen timer my mom used for years to gauge how long the brownies were cooking, or when she needed to rebaste a roast. She ended up getting a new one some years back and passed this one on to me. It works fine, and I used it during some of my cooking misadventures (still do at times).
The Petite Filet read somewhere that little kids have no real sense of time (of which we were already painfully aware). This is true for the Cutlet, especially; he is one of the slowest eaters I've ever seen, but he usually eats pretty well. For times when it's time to leave the bath tub or extricate him from some fun playground equipment, the timer comes in handy. Pavlov's dog wasn't as predictable.
"Cutlet, you've got five minutes and then we have to leave."
Tick, tick, tick ... (five minutes later) ... DING!
And to be sure, he is at times reluctant to comply. But he usually complies.
For the times he doesn't, we make use of another kitchen implement: a wooden spoon. Because he knows what its capabilities are, we often just have to remind him of its mere being before he complies. For you of the "I can never hit my child" camp, you have your way, we have ours. The important thing for us is to never discipline in anger (as hard as that can be). We know it works. After using the spoon, he doesn't fear us, he wants to snuggle and apologize for what he was doing. He was, after all, among the youngest but one of the best-behaved at the birthday celebration. The same couldn't be said for the 37-year-old honoree.
But what do I know? I think Pluto is a planet.
I'm just glad I never learned any of those pesky planet mnemonics....
Ahhhh, the Wooden Spoon . . . my mom was a big proponent of that particular tool (and for the record, I ended up mostly okay).
I think a margarita or three is always a help when in a restaurant party that big . . . no matter what the ages are!
I also think Pluto's a planet.
This Pluto thing - It's just one more thing that makes my education obsolete.
Seems like a planet to me.
Cas
As long as you don't get out the egg-beater (ala Bill Murray in Stripes), I don't think you've got a "little problem" with re-purposing kitchen utensils.
I have always said that children who understand what is expected and are given a moment to transition will do wonderfully. I find that parents who just say suddenly, "It's time to pick up!" don't allow their children to finish what they were doing or to move their mind onto the new task. They just need a minute. I'm the mom at the playground who will holler "Jacob!!" and when he looks at me, I'll hold up two fingers. He doesn't have to stop right now (and would throw a fit if he did) but understands that in two minutes (roughly, I don't actually time it) we're going to go. When the two minutes are up, he comes ready and willingly because he knows I've given him warning.
I was also one who spanked. We had a special implement that stung more than it hurt and we were careful to understand how much pressure was necessary. Once he got old enough to have consequences we used that instead. You do what is best for you to do, as long as it is done within reason and with love.
And Pluto IS a planet doggoneit. Next thing you know they're going to tell us Alegbra is unnecessary.
we are big users of the timer too,for tv and computer games...it helps the boy to have a visual on how much time is left and he's become an expert at using his time judiciously.
Pluto's NOT a planet? I thought it was...plus two more?
Aye-yi-yi.
And little girls are gross...last night my girlie mixed ritz crackers with applesauce and some of the veggies from her kale soup. But she declared it delicious and gobbled it up. ew.
My parents would beat me and THEN think about things like a timer.