Oh the tragedies, the insults, the grievances, the injustices that must be endured by a beleaguered and embattled four-year-old! It is all just, well....UNJUST!
We required that Owen take ONE little bite of lasagna. Only one. Apparently, that was just too much to ask a kid who can smell a bread crumb being dropped on the floor after tea in England. Of course, he was forced to take immediate action.
He wails, "DADDY! YOU ARE FIRED!"
I DO NOT LIKE IT WHEN YOU BEES (THAT IS AN EXACT QUOTE) SO MEAN TO ME!!
I JUST CANNOT TAKE IT ANY MORN (ANOTHER VERBATIM QUOTE)
.
.
.
.
I GIVE UP!"
(and then he falls ceremoniously to the floor)
As the day came to a close and the wails of injustice quieted to a whimper, I made my way into his room to soothe the savage beast and calm his lasagna tortured soul. I cuddled up with him on his bed and stroked his back and told him happy things like, "We'll build a clubhouse tomorrow. But you need to remember that it is important to eat so your bones will be strong and your muscles can grow big. When you have a healthy body it is easy to do so many fun things!" (hint, hint, wink, wink)
And then I asked him if he has any happy things he wants to say to me. I'm trying desperately to turn a disastrous evening into something positive so that I can once again be his prettiest princess (still without backing down)! I even try coaxing him into an apology for acting like a raving lunatic over a measly mouthful of lasagna.
He takes some deep and dramatic breaths, looks at me with huge tears and tells me, "I am not supposed to tell you happy things. I am the kid. You are the grown up. You're supposed to make me happy!"
I haven't been put in my place in a long time. And I think I was just put in my place.
And it started with lasagna.
I won't make that for a loooooong time.
I DO NOT LIKE IT WHEN YOU BEES (THAT IS AN EXACT QUOTE) SO MEAN TO ME!!
I JUST CANNOT TAKE IT ANY MORN (ANOTHER VERBATIM QUOTE)
.
.
.
.
I GIVE UP!"
(and then he falls ceremoniously to the floor)
So up to his room he was banished with much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth (that were free of cavities on Monday, by the way). He was hauled up there, stiff as a board, grasping desperately for anything he could reach to delay his ascent to his place of exile.
The battle lines have been drawn and we're not backing down. Little boys cannot exist on nachos, pizza, and honey nut cheerios alone! Who knew that food could be such a formidable foe? (I, personally, like food. Too much.)
But, oh! The gut wrenching sobs and deep-from-the-soul crying that erupted from Owen are enough for me to wave the white flag! Are the tears and night spent in his room worth one lousy bite of lasagna?
Alas, I won't back down over a request as small as one bite. It wasn't liver pate or fish eyeballs. It was simple, delicious lasagna. So for now he remains holed up in his room, hopefully thinking about how much easier it would've been to try just one bite.
But, oh! The gut wrenching sobs and deep-from-the-soul crying that erupted from Owen are enough for me to wave the white flag! Are the tears and night spent in his room worth one lousy bite of lasagna?
Alas, I won't back down over a request as small as one bite. It wasn't liver pate or fish eyeballs. It was simple, delicious lasagna. So for now he remains holed up in his room, hopefully thinking about how much easier it would've been to try just one bite.
As the day came to a close and the wails of injustice quieted to a whimper, I made my way into his room to soothe the savage beast and calm his lasagna tortured soul. I cuddled up with him on his bed and stroked his back and told him happy things like, "We'll build a clubhouse tomorrow. But you need to remember that it is important to eat so your bones will be strong and your muscles can grow big. When you have a healthy body it is easy to do so many fun things!" (hint, hint, wink, wink)
And then I asked him if he has any happy things he wants to say to me. I'm trying desperately to turn a disastrous evening into something positive so that I can once again be his prettiest princess (still without backing down)! I even try coaxing him into an apology for acting like a raving lunatic over a measly mouthful of lasagna.
He takes some deep and dramatic breaths, looks at me with huge tears and tells me, "I am not supposed to tell you happy things. I am the kid. You are the grown up. You're supposed to make me happy!"
I haven't been put in my place in a long time. And I think I was just put in my place.
And it started with lasagna.
I won't make that for a loooooong time.
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