The Penalty Box

There are certain actions not tolerated in our household (or at school, hence a prior plethora of incident reports). Bad behavior leads to a stint in the penalty box. Time. Out.

“You do that, you go to the box.
Two minutes, by yourself and you feel shame.
And then you get free.”
Slap Shot

Search and Destroy decided it was a climbing night. And Destroy kicked it off with a flying leap from the coffee table onto the couch with a victory cry of “JUMP!”

Discouragement was met with a wicked giggle. Yet I persisted with my Jedi mom mind tricks to persuade him to climb on his play structure. I was unsuccessful.

He moved on to his rocking Police motorcycle. (It’s been cleaned.) With. Authority. Scooting it forward right into me. I looked at him sternly. He laughed. He stood up – on the seat – and continued rocking. Then paused. Looked up at me, and raised his hands above his head in a triumphant victory stance.

Still not recommended living room activities, but…well, he hadn’t killed himself yet.

Naturally Search took this opportunity to up the ante. With a methodically intense focus on the task at hand, he dislodged the large exercise ball the adults had so brilliantly (so we thought) wedged between the end table and couch to prevent vertical assents. (But inmates are always one step ahead.) The green orb rocketed down the treadmill belt, toward the daredevil Destroy, like an Indiana Jones boulder.

Both boys took off for the slide, jostling for the ability to climb it. (Sliding *down* is apparently for amateurs.) Search played his trump card. I saw the frustration scrunch up his little face. And he lunged.

And took a giant bite out of his brother.

Destroy’s eyes immediately welled up with crocodile tears and he screamed a single sob followed by an extended period of silent screams. Finally he pointed and yelled, “Bite! Bite!” as Jon whisked Search to the penalty box.

Two minutes, kid. By yourself. In the box.

Thirty seconds in, Search stood up and announced, “All done.” If only it were that easy…

After two minutes he got free. He darted around the play structure and decided to climb to the top. Destroy, in his infinite wisdom, followed him – sidling up right next to him and proclaiming, “No bite. No bite.” before bursting into a howling wail.

Faker.

He eyed me, seemingly displeased that his dramatic theatrics had not produced the desired effect. But was quickly distracted by a renewed attempt at scaling the slide in reverse.

Meanwhile Search approached the top of the slide. I knew what was coming. He grinned over at me with a dastardly mischievous grin. (Sigh, you are your mother’s son, my child. Karma. Bitch. I know.)

With an added forward thrust, he rocketed down the slide, directly into his brothers climbing arms – taking them both out. They landed with a thud on the hardwood floor.

Before bursting into peals of laughter.

Huh. Well, *that* is not how we expected that particular escapade to end.

And then Destroy shoved Search who ran over and bit me.

Back to the box.

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Filed under Destroy, Family Stories, Search, Sports

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