It’s been a while since I wrote. Not much has happened between posts – RU lost at Cincy (trap game!) and won at home v. Syracuse. The Knights are 10-1, sitting in first place in the Big East. They play next week at West Virginia, and should they win, they’d be Big East champs and BCS-bound. Amazing.
I wasn’t at the ‘Cuse game… I was at the Christening of my friends’ baby, along with Liz, Emily and our friend Jackie. It was a nice afternoon – the reception was at a classy club overlooking North Jersey and the New York skyline…would have been great on a clearer day, but there was a bit of haze in the distance. Emily was a trooper. She was her completely charming self during the service, and was a complete and utter two-year-old at the reception. Fortunately, there was a completely incompetent waitstaff to keep us all entertained.
Emily is really growing up. It’s funny…when she was one, I thought it was the greatest thing in the world that she was sitting in her highchair and mushing a cupcake into her face. Now, when I walk in the door she says “Hi daddy!” and gives me a hug. She tells people in restaurants that “I’m having macaroni and cheese for dinner.” When she sees football on TV shes says “Go Rutgers!” And: she knows what Time Out means.
I never thought I’d be a Time Out dad. Then again, when I was a kid discipline was a little more Old School, and I wasn’t too keen on that, either. I thought Time Out was new-fangled and odd. I love sports, and of course the concept of calling a T.O. seems perfectly analogous to what needs to be done. It’s a break in the action, a quick breather, a time for the coach to rally the guys and have them win one for Gipper…or simply stop pouring Orange Juice on her pants.
Anyway, we’ve been using “Time Out” with Emily for a few months now, with varying success. She usually knows she’s done something wrong, so when I say “Go to your Time Out step,” she usually complies. And when I sit down to talk to her, she looks at me and listens. But when I ask her “Why, sweetie…why did you stick your hands into your yogurt and then dump it on the floor?” she looks at me with her winningest smile and says “You’ve got buttons on your shirt!”
I wasn’t sure she was getting it…until the other day, when I took her book and put it on a shelf. Seems she wasn’t done with that book. And so she grabbed my hand and clearly announced: “You need to sit on your step for one minute, and count to 20.” I asked why, and she said “You took my book away, and that was not very nice, daddy.”
She gets it. Doesn’t get that I don’t go to Time Out, but otherwise, she gets it.