There's not an almost three-year-old in the world who couldn't occasionally be accused of schizophrenic behavior. Everett's no exception for sure.
See, we've been introducing a heavy dose of discipline into the mix. I've struggled to implement a "love and logic" parenting style, but given the way my patience has been tested over the past few months, I'm heading straight into the "spare the rod" camp. OK, I'm still using plenty of love, but punishment is coming a lot easier to me for sure.
So we've had to have lots of talks about how Everett has been bad (today, running away from me; hitting me with a stick; running away from me; screaming "no" when I told him to come back here right now; running away from me; hitting his friend Jackson for taking a train; running away from me. You see a theme here?). These talks often take place in his room, where he's sent for misbehaving. Some days, he spends a lot of time in his room. While he does have toys in his room, he knows he's being punished, and resists the room banishment. And he knows what he's done. Take today, when he'd been punished for running away when I was trying to get him and Truman in the car after our doomed visit to Jackson's house.
After Everett had been up in his room for 15 minutes or so, Aunt Erin got home, and went upstairs to put her things away. A few minutes later she came downstairs and related their conversation to me. "Are you putting away your books, Everett?" she asked. "I'm so proud of you!"
"I'm proud of me, too, but I'm BAD!" he said.
He's bad, and he knows it. Isn't that the first step?
