I’m not nice

It will come as no surprise to those of you who know me that I’m not nice. I’m not even an acquired taste. I’m a saucy, negative little smartass, and I’ve come to terms with the fact that the planet needs me this way.

But this week I take the cake. And refuse to share it.

Peanut wanted stories. I told him in a minute. I really meant a minute. I needed a few more spoonsful of soup. From the kitchen I heard him whining and frustrated that something wasn’t working. Probably having trouble climbing up on the bed. Or pulling book out of the overstuffed shelf. Whatever. I said in a minute. After a day of doing everything you want when you want it, you can wait while I finish the last few bites of my soup.

Crash. Cry. [Evaluate. Frustrated cry? Or hurt cry? The former gets a few beats before I respond. The latter gets a sprint and guilt at my absence during the injury.] Definitely hurt cry. I run into the bedroom. P has pulled a lamp off a high shelf and onto his head.

My response? Once I saw there was no blood I was glad it hit his head on the way down because pull cord=pain is better than pull cord=loud noise=crash=broken glass=delayed pain. Cuz I’m all about clear consequences. And intact lamps.

Hence the title. I really am not nice. Oh, really, a few of you say? Not too bad? Well how about the lecture he got about waiting patiently and about how the world does no revolve around him and that we do everything on his time table but I needed my lunch and he can wait next time? Hmmm? Is that nice? Telling him that sometimes Mommy comes first while he cries that his head hurts? Nope. By no account is that nice. Nor is the fact that, after I got him onto the bed and had his book ready I gave him another lecture.

M:Why did you pull that cord?
P: Because I needed help onto the bed so I needed to pull the cord.
M: And did pulling the cord help you get up? Hmmm? Did that work out for you?
P: [laughing] No.
M: So did you need to pull the cord?
P: No.
M: Did you like having a lamp bounce off your head and crash on the floor and make a big noise and make everything go blaaaaah?
P: [laughing again] No.
M: Hmmm. Maybe next time you could call for help. Or pull the comforter. Or try Daddy’s side of the bed, since it always has more of the covers than Mommy’s.
P: Yeah. Daddy is a cover grabber.
M: He is. But at least he doesn’t grab lamp cords.

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