"That does it," Gretchen announced. "Kitchen chair, five minute timeout!"
Julie proceeded to scream at her instead of heading toward the chair.
"Julie, get in the chair."
I interjected, "Julie, get in the chair now." No significant movement toward the chair.
"Do you want a ten minute timeout? One." This usually produces compliance. No such luck.
"Two. Three. Ten minutes. Get in the chair."
There was a vague drift toward the chair.
"One. Two. Three." And Julie was still not in the chair.
So up Daddy got and he picked up Julie, gave her a single swat on the bottom, and carried her upstairs under one arm for a ten minute timeout in her bed. This made her very unhappy.
She announced that she had boogies, which she did after the crying on the way upstairs, in spades. I gave her a tissue. Then I relented and got her blanket from Gretchen and gave it to her.
And she stayed in the bed when I went downstairs, somewhat to my surprise.
I came up and commuted her sentence after seven minutes, figuring that solitary was probably worse than the kitchen chair.
Julie was much better behaved for the rest of the evening.