We don't negotiate with terrorists

I am far from being the world's most patient mother.  I find children challenging to deal with because I'm not big on a bunch of things that seem to go hand-in-hand with small people.  Consequently, while I love my own small people, there are a bunch of behaviours I spend a lot of my time attempting to erase from existence.  Tantrums are top of that list.

Charlotte was dead easy.  Aged two she tried it on in Coles.  I bent down, told her she would never get a single thing out of me by behaving that way, picked her up and marched her straight out the door.  It was the only tantrum she ever threw.  A week later she watched as a small girl performed in the very same Coles and I pointed out the little rioter.

"Do you see how ridiculous  that looks?" I asked and my solemn little daughter nodded.
"Right.  Would you give that little girl anything for behaving that way?"
A small shake of her head.  She watched the kid in action for a bit then wandered over, bent down and patted her gently until the little anarchist paused to look up.
"You know you won't get anything if you behave like that," Charlotte informed her.

The little Viking has been another matter entirely.  About five months ago the tantrums started.  It was almost like he had to make up for his sister's failure to perform by doing his share, her share, plus accumulated interest.  We had tantrums every fifteen minutes.  We had tantrums lasting fifteen minutes. We had tantrums at home.  We had tantrums at the mall.  Tantrums, tantrums, tantrums.  And over the most ridiculous of things.  His television show ended.  We put his sock on the left foot instead of the right foot first.  He didn't want to wait for dinner to cool down.  The dog looked at him.

At first we tried to get him to talk about how he was feeling rather than just bursting into tears and wailing.  Then we tried bargaining.  Stop the tears and we'll go for a walk.  Then there were the threats.  Cut that out or there's no dessert at all.  Finally we decided there was something to the superpower way of thinking - we don't negotiate with terrorists.  And so the timeouts began.  First sign of tears and it's off to your room for timeout.  Come out when you're ready to talk and deal with us on a rational basis.

This didn't seem to halt the flight of the tantrum.  He would wail away, kicking the wall, crying for up to twenty minutes before emerging tear-stained and blotchy, bottom lip out and head down.  "Sorry for having a tantrum Mama, can I finish my dinner now please?"

This, we were quick to point out to both ourselves and the kids, was not about punishment.  It was about learning to deal with your emotions so you can communicate calmly.  Clearly there were times where our little Viking's emotions were simply too big for his body and he needed to express them, long and loud, before he could talk to us.  That was okay but we wanted to make sure he knew that it was for his benefit alone and not a tool to manipulate us.  So even as they didn't appear to be subsiding, we continued with the timeout rule.

Eventually the technique began to pay off.  The tantrums have thinned to a dribble and he's much better at articulating why he's unhappy and working with us to resolve the issue or negotiate a compromise.  There's only one ongoing, tiny little issue and that's when you ask him what his full name is.

"James Jason Bateson TIMEOUT!"