Poopy. Say It.

Elliott had a fab day yesterday and Saturday, but the attitude was back in full-force today. He was repeating "poopy" over and over on the way home. And over.  And over.  I counted him, he quickly earned a time-out and we had to get off the phone with Glammy (the tragedy!). He still didn't stop--kept egging on Brooklyn to say it. Say it.  

I got stern and showed him how irked I was--major mistake; he laughed (the little shit--pun intended). This makes my head spin around, so it was a good thing that I had the rest of the drive to calm down. Had we not been in the car I'm afraid I would've spanked him, which is not what we want to do as parents although I was second-guessing that decision. I  acknowledged I couldn't make him stop saying it and told him not to worry about his consequence in my best Love and Logic attempt at parenting. It gave me time to plot with Chris via text at red lights. Because he couldn't make good choices around his brother and sister, he had to eat by himself in his room and then go straight to bed. He was quite devastated for the moment, crying, screaming & bargaining.  In turns I felt sad for him and glee at finding a consequence that meant something (momentarily).  I'm often consulted at work for how to treat children with  more challenging behaviors, so I'm convinced that this child has been sent to me for lessons in becoming humble.