The super bag

Yesterday Jack said he was a super boy. I agreed. Then he asked how could he be a super super super super super boy. Lightbulb.

"Hey Jack," I said, "how about we make a bag with your name on it and every time you do an awesome thing, we but a piece of paper with super written on it in the bag. But, I have to warn you, every time you do a naughty or not so awesome thing, I'm going to take a super out." It seems we hit the jackpot with this. All morning when he was on the verge of dawdling or yelling in frustration, I said, "Jack -- super bag." Immediate compliance. He got supers for putting on his underpants and pants by himself without dawdling, peeing and washing his hands independently, hurrying when it was time to leave for preschool, and wiping up a milk spill. No supers had to be removed.

Jack's pretty into pretending to be a mommy these days, so we made super bags for his pretend babies: baby Joy, Zeke, and Violet Beauregarde (I know, Violet's not a baby -- you tell him that). Jack is in charge of those bags, and he rewarded baby Joy and Zeke for peeing in the potty. Jack also brought up how Violet was kind of naughty for eating the gum when Willy Wonka told her not to.

Even if the super bag works for just one day, hey, this has been one great day.