Parenting with spoons

Don’t worry it isn’t what you think.

The Boy was having a small tantrum.

‘Don’t want the TV go off.’
‘But we agreed, you got two Pocoyos and then off.’
‘Arghhh.’
‘You’re angry I can see.’
‘AhhhhHHHHH.’
‘Do you want to go a calm down in your room?’
‘AHHHHHHH’

He throws a pillow. It thumps against the armchair.

‘I’m going to go into the kitchen – to make breakfast.’

Yeah I know – breakfast. TV before breakfast. I KNOW. I go into the kitchen and start tidying up. He comes to the door, fists clenched, face a picture of thwartadom.

‘AHHHHHHH.’

I’m emptying the cutlery drainer into the draw. I pick up a spoon. It’s not one we usually use. It is bigger than a normal spoon but not as big as serving spoon. It is a funny kinda old spoon shaped a bit like a shovel.

‘Oh. Look at this spoon.’

‘AHHHH.’

I hold it out to him.

‘Spoon?’ he says. He takes a step into the kitchen, looking at said spoon.

‘Which draw should it go in? It’s bigger than these cereal spoons in this draw, but smaller than these big serving spoons and wooden spoon in this draw. So I’m not sure…’

He comes over to me, looks down at the spoon and up at me as if I am surely demented.

‘That one.’ He says pointing at the serving spoon draw.
‘Right I’ll put it there then.’
‘No, want it.’
‘Ask nicely please.’

He does and then takes the spoon and flashes a smile at me. TV and tantrum forgotten as he goes about his fine little three-and-three-quarters-year-old business in the other room.

Back of the net. Got this parenting lark sorted.

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