The first cut is the deepest…

More powerful than a locomotive…

The long arm of the law

I’ve seen Barbara Woodhouse do it. I’ve watched Supernanny giving it a go, but now my turn has come to exact discipline on something that’s three foot tall and one of the loves of my life.

No, Gary Coleman hasn’t come to stay. It’s far worse. Despite his cherubic eyes and a mop of golden blond hair (his own), my son Tom has fallen into rather devilish habits of late. Classic toddler squawks, insistent demands and outbursts of defiance can only really be expected at his age, but it’s been his petulant swipes at both me and Vicki that have really brought things to a head. As such, and exactly 2 months shy of 34, I spent my lunchtime wrestling a three year-old to and from his bedroom, fighting back his attempts to wriggle out of my grasp halfway up the stairs with grim-faced, parental dedication (me, not him).

Trouble is, me trying to discipline someone seems a bit rich. Being the arch-procrastinator, timewaster and distracto-tron that I am, there’s more irony than iron about my attempts to lay down the law. I find it hard to take seriously myself, even occasionally corpsing a smirk when faced with the drama of the situation. Maybe on the inside I’m weeping, maybe it’s a cry for help. Either way, what’s certain is that it seems to make absolutely no difference whatsoever to the youth, outside of the forgettable trauma of being shut in a room full of his favourite toys and books.

Work in progress then…