Lately we've been having trouble with Martha being slow. Slow at getting dressed. Slow at eating. Slow at walking to the car. It isn't that she's daydreaming, that's a different kind of slow. She's just slow. S-L-O-W. M-O-L-A-S-S-E-S. At first we tried to nudge her into picking up the pace but it didn't seem to have any effect. Then we started doling out time outs here and there. No result.

[And pardon a quick aside on Time Outs. My kids either head into the penalty box kicking and screaming or just sit down casually and offer to set the timer themselves. The former is perfect because it means they know they did something wrong and are as upset at getting caught as they are embarrassed for doing something wrong. The latter is bad: it means they don't really feel they did anything wrong and have no intention of changing their ways, which can be a problem.]

So, anyway, Martha reacted with total indifference to the slowness-related time outs which, if you think about it, makes sense since it made her that much slower. So our next option was to try the screaming. Maybe a bit of yelling. Idle threats? Sure.

Did this work? No.

Then one day I walked into the kita (daycare). A mother coming out said, "Man, Martha is real slow getting dressed." Then a child walked by. "Martha was the last one finished eating lunch today." And, as if that weren't enough, another kid said: "Martha took forever to brush her teeth." It was like that scene in the Orient Express where everyone lines up to take their turn on the hapless victim, only rather than kill me everyone seemed to be pointing out what a crappy father I was.

I started sweating. We had made her slower by making an issue out of the problem. We've done this several times before. We're good at it. Heck, sometimes I even do it to our friends' kids. But I also started thinking.

It took me a whole night to come up with a solution but the next day in the shower it hit me. I quickly toweled off and sprinted into the kids room (OK I got dressed too).

I grabbed Martha's cherished Princess Lillifee alarm clock and introduced her to the big hand. "When the big hand is here, I'm going upstairs whether you're ready or not." I gave her five minutes. That seemed fair.

She made it upstairs on time. At breakfast I gave her fifteen minutes to eat before I said I was heading out. Afterward, I gave her another five to get ready or I'd leave without her. To my amazement, she made it.

"Wow, Martha, that was great (positive reinforcement, you know)!" I said. "What do you think, should I give you the clock every day? Does it help?

"No way, dad. That wears me out."

Indeed.