Dylan, Sadie, and I had a little ritual every day this summer. I would jog on my treadmill:
And when I have to get off the treadmill, I can be pretty scary. When I get off and walk quickly towards the child I have to help, my eyes wide, my frown grim, and my hair sweaty and wild, I bring with me "all the powers of hell," as Malifecent would say. All that jogging really pumps up the adrenaline, and I'm pretty sure I could beat up, like, Chuck Norris, or something. I have to really work hard not to backhand the kids when I have to get off the treadmill to help them.
The kids want so badly to walk on the treadmill that they are now pretty good, most of the time. We still have those "get off the treadmill 15 times" days, but they happen less than they used to. And if I have to get off to intervene, no treadmill for them. I'm also brattier than I used to be. If Sadie wants a drink, or if Dylan needs help finding his swimming trunks, I just say, "Sorry, you have to wait until I'm done jogging." And they have to wait the half hour.
So here are the kids on the treadmill on a good behavior day: