https://www.steveizenstark.com/home educational seminars, positive practices to overcome auto-impulsive behaviors.

steveizenstark.com, Consciously Pause, ASATEAM, Probation Opportunity Programs, specialize in Interpersonal & Educational Seminars on Educational and Civil Rights for all students, Societal Ethics, Rehabilitation, Acclimation, and Change.


My three-year-old daughter, by inherent nature, went through the entire grieving process in a matter of a couple of minutes. She denied fault (blamed the soda), showed anger (swear word and finger pointed scolded), was sad (sat and cried), bargained (told the cup how it was going to work), accepted (cleaned up, sort of), and she even did what we separate and include as its own category in the grieving process, transcended (she poured and drank a new cup of soda). So go ahead and cry over spilled milk. And like my three-year-old daughter, cry just once, clean up, and pour yourself another glass. 

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Steve Izenstark's practices for impulsive behavior and addictive thinking.

​​Once upon a time, when my daughter was about three years old, I had set up a shelf in the refrigerator, and one in a cabinet that my daughter could reach. Her cabinet shelf had plastic utensils, napkins, etc., that she could take and use. The fridge shelf had juice boxes and appropriate other snacks she could also have at her discretion. The theory being she was learning limits, independence, responsibility, and self-esteem. The truth being, she is rebellious, motivated, and had a percentage of failures ending in a mess to clean up along with mommy effect, croc tears. That ensuing mess was also generally, according to my then-wife, my fault. I did tend to encourage my daughter by laughing at most things she did. ( I am willing to own partial responsibility for some ideas.) My daughter also learned to say daddysaidicould, before she said, daddy. Also, if I was watching sports sprawled out on the couch, a bulk of the game was known as daddynaptime. During daddy nap time, if my daughter wanted me for something, she would come in really close and open my eyelid. If she didn't want me but needed to know if I was asleep, she would come in close and stare for several seconds. One day, she did the latter.

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Figuring I was asleep, and her mom in the other room, my daughter went into the kitchen, grabbed a stool that was too big for her, opened it, dragged it to the not-her-cabinets, climbed up the too-big stool, grabbed an adult cup, climbed down the too-big stool and put the adult cup on the counter. She opened the refrigerator, dragged the too-big stool to the fridge, climbed up again, and grabbed a liter of soda pop she was not allowed to have. She climbed down, and on the way down, dropped the liter. It scared and stunned her until she realized it did not spill because the cap was on it. She picked up the liter and put in on the counter next to the cup. Back to dragging the too-big stool now to the same counter, and once again, she climbed back up. Strategically placing the cup, she opened the liter of soda and proceeded to pour. Immediately, the cup, the drink, and the daughter disappeared from my view. My assumption there was a crying daughter and spilled soda all on the floor. I also figured in about a split-second I was going to hear about, and be blamed for, what just happened. I immediately jumped up to head off this scenario, and the kitchen and daughter both, were precisely the mess as expected. What happened next, though, was not expected.

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My daughter, not noticing me and with her angry tone, uttered a four-letter expletive. She then got up off the floor, pointed her finger at the soda, and had another adjective to express. She then hesitated, unsure of the next right thing, and proceeded to sit on the stool and started the mommy affect croc tears, and abruptly stopped. Still, without noticing me, she quickly got off the too-big stool obviously to tell her mother, daddysaidicould, and be off the hook. I proceeded to utter to myself the same four-letter expletive I just heard out of my daughter's mouth. (I stated earlier I have partial responsibility for some things.) My daughter, though, returned alone, carrying several of our good guest towels and a look of determination. She wiped up the floor and counter with our good towels (sort of), picked up the cup, put it on the counter, Picked up the liter bottle with some soda remaining in it, and told the adult cup not to move. Placing the pop bottle on the counter, she then dragged the too-big stool to the counter, climbed up, poured the soda perfectly into the cup, and drank what was left of the soda. Smacking her lips, a burp, and the sound of AAAHHH, she climbed down the too-big stool and left the kitchen. I faked back asleep on the couch. She came in really close and stared. Content I slept through the whole thing, off she skipped.   

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​And if interested, it wasn't too long after, my then-wife wanted to know what the heck I did to the kitchen and our good guest towels she found in the trash. I looked at my daughter, who looked at me. I knew she knew, I knew. I muttered, I didn't know and was told I was never allowed in the kitchen without supervision again. My daughter said to her mother, she would always get me something if I wanted, as long as it was on a shelf she was allowed to use. Rewarded by her mother's praises and a hug, with the sound of an AHHH and the smack of her lips, off my daughter skipped in triumph. That is until she realized her cupboards were bare. After this incident, for 2 way-too- long-days to a three-year-old, I drank juice boxes, ate gummy bears, and smacked my lips in front of her. She knew I knew she knew the risks.