Just Call Me Edna Krabappel

My 6-year-old son is going through the requisite Bart Simpson/Dennis the Menace phase of life right now. This generally culminates in doing little pranks and engaging in mischievous behaviour like dumping water in my shoe, stealing candy for 'morning munchies', or at worst, spreading used kitty litter on the driver's seat of my van. I guess I’m his target because I’m his safe person (at least that’s what I tell myself), and truthfully, I will always be mildly amused by his impish ways. But lately, I'm tired AF and something's gotta give. I also suck at punishments and hate the idea of sequestering my kids to the isolation tank of their rooms. At the same time, I don't have the energy or time to brainstorm particularly meaningful consequences these days. Well, save for when my daughter pierced her own nose with a thumbtack last week. She has a report to do on the dangers of self-piercing (and no phone or social life). But for my six-year-old Bart wannabe? Enter the good ol' fashion consequence of writing lines. This way, he has to practice his printing (hey, it's a dying art) and he experiences some form of frustration at being pulled away from more meaningful pursuits, just like I am when I have to clean up another one of his pranks.

After all, it's only funny if mom laughs, right?