For Want of a Popsicle

Every Wednesday my younger grandson comes over for a visit.  When mom dropped him off yesterday, she said no food and no snacks because he didn't finish his dinner.  I made myself a small plate of spaghetti for my evening meal, and he wanted some. He understood when I said no.  Since it was hot in the house of Evan yesterday, I pulled out a fresh fruit popsicle for my dessert.  He said he wanted one, and I again said no, reminding him that mom said no food.  That one didn't go over so well.

Apparently, he had decided that if he couldn't have one, that I shouldn't either.  He tried to grab the popsicle from me.  I grabbed his arm to stop him, to which he cried "Ow!  My bones!" in mock pain.  I let him go, and he tried again.  I, of course, grabbed his arm again, and he again said "My bones!"  I called his bluff and told him I know I'm not hurting him.  He said he was going to do it again, to which I responded, "What do you think will happen if you do that?"

"You'll grab my arm again," he answered.

"Great, you're learning."

"If you don't give me a popsicle, I'm going to put hair on yours so you can't eat it," he continued, trying in vain to get his way, and going about it in the absolute worst possible way.  I told him this wouldn't end well for him, as he went to the broom closet to grab our duster.  As he walked toward me with the duster, I told him he was not getting a popsicle and it was time to be done with the attitude.  He responded by throwing the duster on the floor and stomping toward me, planning who-knows-what.  "Okay, corner time," I said flatly, bringing on the grand mal meltdown.

As he stomped and screamed to his corner at the end of the hallway, I matter-of-factly reminded him that his time doesn't start until he calms down.  He chilled a bit.  I started the timer.  He screamed, stomped and started punching doors, and I informed him that his timer would be restarted.  He lost it, turning around and charging me at full speed.  Seeing that he wasn't going to stop, I pivoted to the side and raised my leg to knee height, in order to ensure that the waist-high five year old boy didn't try going for papa's jewels.  He ran headlong into my waist, at full speed, promptly bouncing off me and falling flat on his back.  As he lay on the floor, slightly confused, completely enraged, and utterly rebuffed, I just pointed to the corner, which brought on round two of the meltdown.

Eventually, he calmed down and the evening continued.  When mom came to pick him up, I gave her a rundown, which brought on a repeat of the tantrum for reasons that would only make sense to a five year old boy.  He spit on my floor.  Three separate times.  Mom made him take off his shirt and wipe up the spit, which was one of the best, most creative punishments I've ever seen!  The boy really didn't like that one, because he directly experienced the consequences of his behavior.

My daughter is really struggling with my grandson's temper.  I, on the other hand, realize that, while he's on the higher end of the temper tantrum scale, he's still well within normal behavior for his age.  I guess it's easier for me, because when his temper gets the better of him, I see myself at that age.

All of these power struggles for want of a popsicle...