The name of the actual indiscretion isn’t important. She’s done it on purpose, and now she suffers the consequences. She is promptly whisked to the time-out corner against her will, the minutes matching her age punched into the microwave timer.

I take a deep breath.

I unclench.

Consistency is the key, and we’re both nothing if not consistent.

I remind her that there is no talking in the time-out corner.
We can talk when the timer goes off.
We will talk when the timer goes off.

The microwave beeps, and I grant her release from the corner.

She comes to stand in front of me, her eyes brimming with tears. I kneel down to her level and look into her eyes. I wipe her tears, and she says she’s sorry. She says she won’t do it again. We embrace as she gives me a hug and a kiss.

I ask her to explain why she was in time-out, and she does. I explain to her why it’s important to not do what she’d done to land herself there.

I think I’m really getting through to her. I hope I’m really getting through to her. Discipline is a process. Is the message being absorbed? Will she take this to heart?

I take her face in my hands and look into her eyes again. I ask her if she understands me and understands what just happened. I search her face, hoping to see any evidence that she’s taking this seriously. I’m waiting for her answer.

She looks at me, gently touches my mouth, and says, “Momma?”

“Yes, Claire?”

“What color is your lipstisk?”

(Stock photo by: Ravenwood.)