Some days I find myself laughing every time I turn around. Not that my life is really all that hilarious, or that I’m a funny person, or that I happen to have a book of jokes that I carry around with me (though Erica could pass for a book of jokes lately, and a fairly decent one at that). It’s more that I’ve found it easier to choose laughter as my response to the things that go on in my house. Laughter, I’m finding, is a great stress reliever. And it’s contagious, which helps almost every situation. And it’s a lot prettier than crying or yelling. 🙂
Yesterday afternoon as I was making dinner and (as usual) running the discipline train full speed, Isaac managed to land himself in a 4 minute timeout in his room (a 1 minute extension to his typical 3 minute timeout). When I’m making dinner, it is sometimes a little difficult for me to be exact with his timeouts, as I can’t always leave the food I’m cooking (or burning, as was the case yesterday) when his time has expired to run up and tell him he can come out if he wants to. Consequently, his 4 minute timeout was a little longer – closer to 5 or 6 minutes. So anyway – when I did manage to make it up to his room and opened the door to excuse him from his room, I said my customary "You may come out of timeout now if you would like" to which I received an "Ok" coming from the direction of the closet.
Now, the direction of the response set off a little warning bell in my head. Normally, the closet isn’t a big deal. But earlier that day, Isaac was in (yet another) timeout and when I excused him and went back down to the kitchen to work on dinner (yes – timeout twice in the 45 minutes I spent making dinner – this boy tries my patience some days) I waited to hear running feet or slamming doors – the usual indicators that Isaac has exited his room. I waited and for a good 5 minutes I heard nothing coming from his room. This is usually a bad sign, so back up I went. I walked out of the kitchen and away from the sizzle of the food and immediately I heard my son’s crying voice calling for my help. Up the stairs I ran, into his room, and over to the closet to find him sitting on the shelf, pleading for help to get down. I of course helped him down and then we had a talk about not climbing up on things that he can’t get back down from by himself. Still a far cry from "No climbing in the house" but I’ll take what I can get at this point.
So at any rate, when I heard the "ok" come from the closet, I immediately thought, "He’s climbed the closet again." But instead, to my surprise (and relief mixed with fresh fear) he came out of the closet with his pants and underwear around his ankles. He looked up at me and said, "Is Dad home yet?" That made my stomach do a backwards flop. Immediately, about a dozen thoughts rushed through my mind, including: Isaac needed a bathroom during timeout. I didn’t come up after the 4 minutes – he spent an extra few minutes in his room. He does his best to stay in his room during timeout, even if he needs to go to the bathroom. Sometimes when he poops he wants Dad to help him wipe, since I won’t do it (we’re working on him wiping by himself and doing a good job). His pants are down and I couldn’t see if there was poop in his underwear or not. My conclusion? He pooped during timeout and wanted Dad to help him clean himself up. My answer to my son’s question? "No, Isaac. Daddy’s not home yet." Pause. Deep breath. "Why are your pants down?" He looked up at me and said "Cuz I needed to go bafwoom." Oh no. Gulp. Another deep breath. "Well, son, what do you think you should do then?" And, to my infinite relief, joy, and pride, my son shuffled off to the bathroom, used the toilet, and ran off to play. No emergency. No mess.
The laughter in this situation? Mostly because there was a small boy standing in front of me, pants around his ankles, and the only thing he cared about was "Where’s Dad?" At least he has his priorities straight. 🙂
