10:30 this morning
Cubby: I could eat meatballs anytime.
Me: You want meatballs for dinner tonight?
Cubby: Yes. I love meatballs.
Me: Okay.
4:30 this afternoon
Cubby: What's for dinner? Pasta?
Me: No. Meatballs.
Cubby: WHAT? NOOOOO!
Me: You said you wanted meatballs, so I made them.
Cubby: I did NOT say I wanted meatballs. I hate meatballs! Make something else!
Me: Too late. They're already cooking.
Cubby: Take them out of the oven!
(He went on in this vein for another minute or two, but it was very irritating at the time and will no doubt be just as irritating in the re-telling, so I'll spare you.)
5:30 this evening
Me: Cubby, it's time for dinner.
Cubby, upon viewing his plate: NOOOOO. Or . . . maybe not no.
5:32 this evening
Cubby: Can I have some more meatballs?
5:35 this evening
Cubby: Can I have another meatball?
Me: I'm glad you like the meatballs, Cubby.
Cubby: I LOVE meatballs.
Through great effort of will, I managed not to roll my eyes or say something sarcastic. But it was most certainly a very great effort.
4 comments:
Jenn said, "She's a good mom."
I would fear for Cubby if he were born in a home where children rule. You always seem to find the balance necessary to be loving yet adult. Cubby will thank you in the future - may be.
This happens every day in our house.
Every. Stinkin'. Day.
I play just like you do - make the meatballs and smile when they eventually eat them happily.
(All the time, inside my brain, SHOUTING: I TOLD YOU SO!)
your kid is so awesome he makes my brain hurt.
(said flask, eating a handful of cold pasta and typing one handed)
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