I don't care if Lennon digs holes in my backyard or colors our house with chalk. I don't even care if he wears his underwear backwards and insists on a cape in public. But after a week of toothpaste on the walls, a flooded bathroom/hallway, and finding him on the couch enjoying a fresh loaf of homemade bread with his grimy fingers, I cared.
No punishment seemed harsh enough; he plays in his room, he sneaks off the couch time-out, he's not even afraid of a spank anymore. And just like that, yesterday I became either the smartest or the meanest mom on earth. I sent him to his own (kitchen) island.
Kitchen Island Time-Outs may catch on because 1.) they create natural isolation (almost like my own Alcatraz), 2.) he can't see or hear the TV and 3.) he can't leave until I'm ready to set him free.
Now all I have to do is ask, "Do you want to go back to the island?"