There's no law for toast.
I didn't sleep much after a really... really bad day yesterday. So when the Kinglet climbed into my bed to wake me up this morning I was not in the best of moods.
I gave him a chance, though... lay there for a while talking about our plans for the day, until he started with his space invader routine - poking his finger in my ear or my armpit, jamming his foot into my side or his knee into my face, ignoring me and smiling when I told him to stop, even when I forcibly removed the offending body part and snapped at him because he knows better.
When he called me a liar, though (his knee wasn't in my FACE, see, it was only, like, by my ear, GOD, MOM), I sad, "Ok. We're done here. Go away." Which is how many of our conversations end these days.
I got up, because it was breakfast time. I went in the kitchen, got a bag of bread and a plate and put them on the table.
"There," I said. "I am required to feed you, but there's no law that says I have to toast and butter your bread for you. Have at it."
With much stammering and railing against the unfairness of it all, he went to the fridge and, eventually, found the butter (it was in the door, requiring him to turn his head. Tricky, I know.), and got himself a knife. When he opened the bread (not realizing I had removed the twist-tie for him on the sly - I'm no monster), he said:
"Wait. Hey! This isn't blueberry bread!"
"You're right!" I agreed. "Blueberry bread is a special treat. I buy it because I like to be nice to you. But you don't seem to appreciate the nice things people do for you. You can have multigrain today."
More protests and grumbling followed. Eventually, he seemed to accept his situation, but then he turned to the toaster. "Will you toast this for me?"
"Nope."
"But I don't know how to use the toaster."
"I guess you have to eat it regular, then."
"But toasting it is the whole point! Fine. I guess I'm not having breakfast, then," he cried, and stormed off to watch TV - but not before putting the bread back in the bag, his knife in the drawer, and the butter back in the fridge, without being told.
I'm not certain a lesson was learned here... but at least I feel a little better now.
*Edit: There. I taught him how to use the toaster. Teach a man to fish...
I gave him a chance, though... lay there for a while talking about our plans for the day, until he started with his space invader routine - poking his finger in my ear or my armpit, jamming his foot into my side or his knee into my face, ignoring me and smiling when I told him to stop, even when I forcibly removed the offending body part and snapped at him because he knows better.
When he called me a liar, though (his knee wasn't in my FACE, see, it was only, like, by my ear, GOD, MOM), I sad, "Ok. We're done here. Go away." Which is how many of our conversations end these days.
I got up, because it was breakfast time. I went in the kitchen, got a bag of bread and a plate and put them on the table.
"There," I said. "I am required to feed you, but there's no law that says I have to toast and butter your bread for you. Have at it."
With much stammering and railing against the unfairness of it all, he went to the fridge and, eventually, found the butter (it was in the door, requiring him to turn his head. Tricky, I know.), and got himself a knife. When he opened the bread (not realizing I had removed the twist-tie for him on the sly - I'm no monster), he said:
"Wait. Hey! This isn't blueberry bread!"
"You're right!" I agreed. "Blueberry bread is a special treat. I buy it because I like to be nice to you. But you don't seem to appreciate the nice things people do for you. You can have multigrain today."
More protests and grumbling followed. Eventually, he seemed to accept his situation, but then he turned to the toaster. "Will you toast this for me?"
"Nope."
"But I don't know how to use the toaster."
"I guess you have to eat it regular, then."
"But toasting it is the whole point! Fine. I guess I'm not having breakfast, then," he cried, and stormed off to watch TV - but not before putting the bread back in the bag, his knife in the drawer, and the butter back in the fridge, without being told.
I'm not certain a lesson was learned here... but at least I feel a little better now.
*Edit: There. I taught him how to use the toaster. Teach a man to fish...