The Crazy Wednesday Routine.
We were doing well.
The standard “I want Daddy! I don’t wanna go swimming wif you!”
“I don’t wanna go!” when it was time to go to school for Lego Club.
“I don’t wanna ….,” and I’m sure he would have said “something” had he known the word. You know, just because he could.
I toyed with the idea of getting the kids to walk home from school by themselves, but after a pointed, and somewhat critical conversation with Monkey Boy’s teacher, which left me seething and feeling incompetant, although Idamn well know that I’m not!, I forgot to mention it to the kids.
Instead, I helped out with
the suicide inducing listening to the kids read. Chippie in accompaniement, I shielded the reading children from his boisterousness, by sitting between him and them, and allowed him to toss all the cushions from the classroom couch onto the floor, line them up as train tracks, roll over them, fall on them, jump over them and the rest of it.
The bell went, there were cushions scattered all over the floor and buggered if I was gonna pick them up. Good time for a “pick up after yourself lesson” right? I mean, he picks up after himself at childcare, and mostly at home.
“Pick the cushions up, please?” I ask him.
“Pick then up. Please.”
“No. I don’t like it.”
“Pick. Them. Up. Now.”
Which instigated a full on screaming tantrum, attempts to run out of the room, and