You Make a Good Point, Son
Whew, we're home. We just survived another week of VBS, culminating in the usual Family Dinner complete with dancing and singing from all the campers. Now, we're getting ready to watch a recorded Spain v. Chile game, and Little T is leaning against me heavily, realizing that the day's events have worn her out.
Sam: "Mom, she's sure been a handful today, huh?"
Me, clueless: "Gee, not really. She had a pretty good day."
Sam: "Mom! What about when she was stomping back and forth on the sidewalk next to the van, not getting in the car and making us late for dinner?
Or when we were at the bank and she wouldn't get in her car seat?
Or when she rifled through your purse when you left it on the kitchen table, took your ATM cards out of your wallet and hid them so you didn't have them when we went to the bank?
Or when she wouldn't leave me alone even after you told her to a million times?
Or when she put the battery operated Buzz Lightyear in the bathtub?
Or when she told you, in front of a guest we had just met, she was going to put her butt in your face?
Or when she wouldn't stay still and eat her sandwich?
Or when she kept grabbing your face and forcing you to look where she wanted you to when you were talking to Angie at dinner tonight?"
This is a record of one six hour period of time. So yeah, the kid's got a point, and I have a seriously skewed sense of a pretty good day with this particular three year old. The past few years with this girl have radically changed my baseline for normal behavior. I'm doomed.
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