Dinnertime drama

I just left dirty dishes on the kitchen table, but I had to write this down RIGHT NOW to make sure I remembered all the details.

Biscuit has a high chair that mounts in a kitchen chair. And for the past little while, we've just been pulling it up to the table instead of putting the tray on it. He seems to enjoy eating at the table with us. Plus, it makes him closer to us so we can help him eat.

The problem, though, is that there's a crossbeam under the table that Biscuit has found, and he spends a good part of dinner with his feet propped there. That was fine until he started pushing off from the beam, using it as a lever to lift the front two legs of his chair off the floor.

Of course we've tried the logical approach of telling him that if he pushes too far, he'll fall. But he doesn't get it.

So Jeff and I tried putting a foot on either side of the chair to hold it down, but not only was that not comfortable for us, as soon as we moved our feet, he would do it again.

And sometimes, he'll even push the high chair back then put his feet on top of the table. Needless to say, THAT is not acceptable, either.

So tonight, Jeff had had enough. Biscuit pushed his chair into the air and got scolded. Then he put his feet up on the table. So Jeff grabbed the arm of the chair and spun him 90 degrees away from the table. Oh, but didn't THAT get his attention!

Biscuit burst into tears. He started talking, but we couldn't understand what he was saying. We didn't want to ask him to repeat himself because we were ignoring the whole tantrum thing.

Finally, as the tears were streaming down his little cheeks, Biscuit said, "I'm mad. I'm mad. I'm mad. Mom and Dad, I'm mad. I cying. I cying, Mom and Dad. I cying."

It was the most pitiful thing I've ever seen.

So Jeff said, "Biscuit, do you know why I pushed you away from the table?" "Yeeessss," Biscuit said, still crying.

"Tell me you're sorry for putting your feet on the table," Jeff said.

"Sowwy, put feet table, Daaaaaad," Biscuit said, still crying. "Down, pease, Dad?"

So Jeff took Biscuit out of the high chair, and Biscuit said, "Thank you, Dad." Then he took off running into the living room, crying the whole way.

Jeff and I just looked at each other. We didn't have to say a word because we were both feeling the same way ... frustrated, amused, mad and hoping we did the right thing.

A couple of minutes later, Biscuit came walking back into the kitchen, STILL crying, saying, "I cying. I cying. I cying."

So Jeff said, "Come here, Biscuit," then he picked him up and hugged him, then they headed to for bathtime.

It truly breaks my heart to see Biscuit so upset, but at the same time, we have to back up what we say to him or he won't learn. This parenting stuff is hard!