If a one-year-old gets one minute time-outs, a two-year-old gets two minutes, and a three-year-old three minutes (and so on), it stands to reason that a 30-year-old should get 3o minutes for each time out.
Am barricading myself in my bedroom now.
She’s out there, though. “Mommy!” … “Mommy?” … “Mommmeeeeeeeee!”
30 minutes. I’d rather spend it reading, or working on le manuscript, or napping. A nap would be good. Instead, she’s pounding on the door like a body-snatcher, or a zombie or, even scarier, a hyperactive three-year-old. Might have to further retreat into master bathroom.
So here I am, perched on the counter next to the sink, armed with a bottle of hairspray from 1988 and a toilet plunger. Not the time-out I needed.
The true benefit of aging. Mommy needs a time out right this very minute!
I don’t know when I don’t need a time out. I took a few today.
Ha! Did you eventually come out of hiding? Just imagine what it’ll be like when there are TWO of them! 😉
Egads. What was I thinking? I’ll need double locks on the doors! And extra-strong earplugs.
Or Gran to the rescue!