J had a terrible day at school--he went sort of haywire, apparently, and got himself into a lot of trouble. First he tossed a little girl's gloves over the high wooden fence into the alley behind the school's playground. (They were tossed back over by a helpful sanitation worker, which I love.) Then at naptime he kept getting up from his cot to go around and "hit" the other kids with his blanket.

When I arrived to pick him up, he was in the time-out corner. All the kids rushed to tell me that J was in really big trouble. He burst into tears when he saw me and wouldn't look me in the eye. Poor monkey. I asked him what happened and he said, "I was out of control. I couldn't control myself." I didn't want to rake him over the coals. Later, while he was soaking in a warm bath, we talked about why it's not a great idea to mess around with other people's stuff and bother tired kids when they're trying to sleep. And then I packed my own tired kid off to bed, with the promise that everything will feel better after a good night's sleep.

I know it's my job as a parent to say, "Do not do that again. Seriously." I did say that, but secretly I was thinking that he's entitled to a little mischief now and then. We all have the urge sometimes, especially when the gloves in question belong to the biggest whiner in the whole entire school.

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