After my daughter hit me today (after I took her to the park with a friend, and to Pizza Tempo, and ordered pancakes with soft cheese, strawberry jam AND vanilla ice cream) in front of a line of shoppers because she was not allowed to stroll away from me to look at cartoon posters I told her she was going to be punished. Having swallowed silently my lengthy explanations that children were not supposed to hit their parents, because parents toiled for them day and night, sacrificed lots of things (being able to take a two-minute shower without having to get out naked, lathered in soap to get water, or bisquites, or that thingie I found yesterday), not to mention giving them life, etc. with a portentous ‘listen, and pay attention’ my daughter announced her name was no longer Sophia but in fact it was Kali. She also told me Kali was a boy, five years of age, and he never hit his mother. This turn of events caught me completely off guard. To add insult to injury, this newborn Kali demanded to know what on Earth we were supposed to do with Sophia. I said I think Sophia had to stand in the quiet corner (the corner of shame, really, but since the emphasis is on positive aspects of punishment these days, it got promoted to 'quiet' which is lame, if you ask me) for five minutes. Kali agreed and said it was an appropriate punishment for a girl hitting her own mother. (I thought this was a brilliant settlement, no egos hurt, evil conquered, the UN should take notice, and was smiling to myself).
When we got home Kali announced he always did everything by himself – took off his coat and boots, and put them exactly where they belonged. And, miracle of miracles, he did! (Even without the abused mother having to repeat her pleads over and over – five times usually does the trick.) After doing that, Kali even put on his home shoes and proceeded to the corner. I was speechless. Then, with loud proclamations of how bold and naughty So-phi-a had been in the shop, Kali pushed her into the corner and stepped back. (She literally pushed an imaginary someone there; she shoved her in; there would be a bruise; or bruises.) 'Look at Sophia standing in the corner', laughed Kali, pointing his hand at the punished girl in complete triumph.
My daughter bawled for five minutes on end (those with children can tell you how that translates into normal time measurement units) after her devious plot was uncovered and she was faced with the gruesome reality of being Sophia, and nobody else but Sophia.
Did I mention my daughter is four?
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