time-out

Besides Rowan’s expanding vocabulary, Brandon and I are fascinated at his emerging personality. His most recent trick is attempting to charm his mommy. For instance…he’s sitting in time-out for some toddler-like offense. He’s unhappy about sitting in time-out. REAL unhappy. Arching-of-the-back, screaming-bloody-murder, tears-streaming-down-cheeks, snot-running-into-mouth unhappy. I sit on the floor directly in front of him and speak in a low voice, hoping he’ll take my cue: “Rowan, calm down. Take a breath and just calm down.” He stops screaming and crying, seemingly gathering himself. We make eye contact and have a staredown of sorts. I want to laugh at what we look like to the outside world, this 30-something, frizzy-haired woman nose-to-nose with a willful, chubby-cheeked child. I also feel this momentary urge to cry…it’s as if I’m peering deep into my son’s tender soul. But wait, out of my peripheral vision, I see his hand moving. He is slowly, ever-so-slowly, lifting his hand to my face. His index finger is now pointing at my eye. He holds his finger mid-air and then gingerly touches my eyelash. Of course I crack up. And time-out has come to an abrupt end. Ya gotta give in every once in awhile.