In the stairway

I am sitting in the stairway between the first and second floors of my appartment building. Why would I be doing that, you ask? Well, apparently this is how Evan has chosen to punish me for taking away his screen time. Because taking away screen time is punishment. For everybody.

We came to an agreement that he was to go to camp three days a week. Just three. All the other days he can lounge to his heart's content and watch 20 year old men children play Minecraft and yell a lot. I get three days. Just three. 

Today was the first of these days. I front loaded the situation, asked him what time he wanted to get up so that he could watch a video before going. He was all on board last night. This morning was a different story.

I woke him up when I got up, just as he'd asked, and let him watch videos while I prepped tea and checked my email. Then, as soon as I got out his clothes to get him dressed, he flipped out, screaming that he couldn't go to camp. I insisted that yes, he really could, and he proclaimed that I was in error. This wasn't going well at all.

It got worse from there. Adrenaline pumping, I picked him up and grabbed his clothes, determined to carry him all the way there if I had to. But then, when I bent down to pick up his shoes, he wiggled out of my arms, tore off his shorts and underwear, then sat on the floor in front of the door, naked, thumb in mouth. I was less than pleased.

Outmanuvered, I went back in the bedroom to call my husband. Evan followed me and climbed into bed, blanket draped dramatically over his head. Matt correctly pointed out that there was not much he could do from work, but it calmed me down to have him at least talk to Evan. 

We tried to bribe him. We begged. We said anything and everything we could to try and convince him to go. Nothing worked. We were defeated. By a six year old.

I got off the phone and went back to work after hiding the tablet on a shelf I thought was too high for Evan to access. Evan stayed on the bed, and eventually fell asleep. He stayed like that for several hours.

When he woke up around 1:30, he got out of bed, got dressed, and played with his stuffed animals for a while. When it was time to get Ian from camp, we went and got him no problem, but on the way back things fell apart again. Evan said that he was going to watch screen time on his tablet when we got home, and I reminded him that he didn't get any screen time because he didn't go to camp. He broke out in a run, and I ran after him, knowing that if he got home before me, he would lock me out of the apartment. He has done so before.

I caught him up, and held his hand to keep him with me. He wiggled and turned until I lost hold, then he picked up some fallen palm fronds and hit me with them over and over again all the rest of the way home. Man, sometimes that kid is hard to love.

Back in the apartment, he finds this nerf bat, about 14 inches long, and proceeds to hit me with it over and over again. I try to ignore him, but, man, I dislike getting hit with a bat, and finally I wrench the thing out of his hands and head for the trash shoot. He follows, SCREAMING, and grabbing my leg to get me to stop. I persevere, and throw the hated object down the long shoot, never to be heard from again.

Now, I don't know if this was a mistake or not. Did I grossly overreact, or take appropriate action? I may never know. But the consequence is, I am in the stairs, and Evan refuses to go home. It is going to be a long night.