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JevInstincts
There's something absolutely phenomenal about the ability of a three year old to manipulate any situation to his benefit. Ever try negotiating with a little kid? I tried using the strategies of Fisher, Ury and Patton. Getting To Yes my ass. More like Getting Nowhere. I should write my own book, Get Your Ass To Bed. I love the summer. Mainly because I try to take as much of my holiday time as I can, and take an honest to goodness break from work. I also love it because I get to spend a lot of time with my sons. The other day my oldest and I were at a park and we were playing King of the Castle, and basically having a pretty good time. Man do I love being King. He's only three and there's no way he's pushing me off the top. We were getting ready to head for home, when I saw something in the grass. Upon closer inspection it turned out to be a Hotwheels car. My son thought this was especially cool, and he carted it around everywhere. He was playing with it at home too when all of a sudden he hollers "Gotta go poo-poo!" This is the equivalent of a 911 call at our house. When the call comes he's basically announcing that he's moments away from crapping his pants. I scooped him up and rushed him to the bathroom just in time. "I want my new car!" I get the car and bring it to him. A few moments later I hear an odd splash, followed closely by "Daddy, can you get my car?" Ordinarily I would have put on a glove and retrieved his car. I looked in the bowl - there was no way I was going to put my hand in that. "Car's gone son." Then I did something I know will come back to haunt me in the not so distant future. I flushed. Part of me thought that all the yucky stuff would go away, leaving the car on the bottom. Nope. There was an strange clank and a brittle tinkle, and when I could see to the bottom of the bowl - no car. I have no idea what the point of my rant was this month, but I feel better now. See you in September. Jevster, |
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It's
a good thing I didn't have to answer a skill testing question before
I was allowed to be a parent. I suppose that there is a pass or fail
thing. If my kids turn out to be ax-murdering light-beer drinking hellions
who like to drive exotic eastern-European novelty vehicles I failed.