I saw something interesting this week at Scarlett’s swim class. One of the teachers climbed out of the pool in the middle of a lesson and said to another employee, “I just feel myself getting frustrated.” She wrapped a towel around her waist and walked out of the pool area. A self-imposed time out.

I had a few thoughts as I watched this. The first was to be impressed that she had lasted so long. These lessons go on all day, every half hour, and although I’m sure the teachers get a break, it must be very frustrating to deal with young children in a pool for hours at a time. I personally had a difficult time, on a recent evening, dealing with one child, who was crying because the contents of dinner had been placed onto her dish in the wrong order. THE HORROR.

I was also impressed by the teacher’s self-awareness, and by the apparent arrangement at the pool that would allow for someone to walk out and leave a bunch of flailing four-year-olds behind. That’s foresight. I mean, I assume another teacher got in and took her place, and that the children were not left to fend for themselves. But if anyone had drowned, I’m sure I would have heard about it, and gotten some money back or something.

Yikes, a drowning joke? How inappropriate.

But ah, time outs. I love them. When Scarlett is wild and not listening, she is sent to her room, not really as a punishment, but just as a way to move her energy towards something else. Or at the very least, to contain her noise and mania to a smaller area. Many times she goes willingly. I think that even kids know when they need a break.

Although, here’s an alarming snippet from parents.com that suggests time outs only work up to a certain age. “By the time a child is 6 or 7, she’s likely to overthink time-outs and spend her cooling-off period plotting revenge against her parents…”

Since Scarlett sometimes emerges from her room dressed as a caped crusader or wielding a wizard wand and performing the Cruciatus curse, it seems possible that she’s spent her time not in mindfulness mode, but in figuring out new and innovative ways to punish us. If I were in a Harry Potter book, I would have been dead and tortured many times over. But I won’t give up on the time outs just yet. Especially not for myself.

My own time outs vary in location. If Scarlett isn’t home, I often go to her room. I find it grounds me, and makes me feel close to her. Whereas if my house is full of family and I’m starting to feel overwhelmed, I go and hide in the (completely dry) shower until I have composed myself enough to handle people. I’m convinced this is normal behavior, so if it isn’t, please don’t tell me.

Before ALS, I didn’t take traditional time outs the way I do now. My head clearing took on the form of a run, a yoga class, even just a walk to grab a cup of coffee and a change of scenery. My methods always involved movement. I can’t say the current versions of time out are quite as effective for me, but I’m starting to adjust to the bathroom tile with its series of caulked H shapes becoming my change of scenery.

It’s a goal of mine to keep my cool, because I’m aware that the wheelchair I’m sitting in could easily be turned into a weapon of some sort, and it’s true that when I get riled up one of my first instincts is to run it into something. It seems like a better idea to roll into Scarlett’s room, look out her window at the flourishing front garden, and just hope she doesn’t jump out of the closet and scream the killing curse at me. For that, I’d have to banish her to the shower.

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