We’re on “vacation,” visiting my parents in Connecticut. The person who is truly on vacation – no-sarcastic-quotation-marks vacation – is my son. He has been getting whatever he wants at the hand of Grandma and Pop-pop – new movies, lots of TV, new toys, ice cream, willing playmates – and as a result, his behaviorRead more about Zombie Post: A Wolf in Grandma’s Clothing[…]
A few weeks back, after abandoning potty training due to the onset of trauma, Mom and Buried and I took a quick run to Target.
While there, we decided to buy some off-brand diapers to get us through the next few weeks, enough time for Detective Munch to emerge from his PTSD (Potty Traumatic Stress Disorder) and get back on the potty train.
The cheapo diapers turned out to not be the best idea, as they were cheapo for a reason: they leaked worse than Julian Assange.
Which got me thinking. Maybe I shouldn’t shortchange my son.
As you may or may not know, I tweet a lot. Most of my tweets are at my son’s expense, some are at my expense, and a handful are at my wife’s expense, much to her chagrin. Some are true, some are pure fiction, and some – perhaps most – are true-ish.
Like this one, which is among my most retweeted:
“The fact that I just angrily yelled ‘You’re not the boss of me!’ at my two-year-old is a pretty clear indication that he definitely is.”
I don’t believe I’ve ever yelled that at my son; at least not out loud. But it’s 100% true, just the same.
For the past few weeks, we were in the middle of a move, which is no picnic under the best circumstances and just about impossible with a toddler underfoot. So, in order to get everything done, we shipped the kid to his grandparents’.
It worked out well; we were able to pack up and relocate a lot more quickly, and no miniature humans were injured in the process. We even got to go to dinner once or twice without needing to wrangle a psycho into a highchair.
Little did we know that while we were taking care of business, our son was being turned against us.