We have been fighting the good fight in these parts. (although, to be honest, sometimes rather than a fight against poor choices or evil in general, it has felt more like a fight that is me against my children)
I fought this one over the idea that he can actually potty on the potty. He insists he will, when he is 4.
Too bad for me and my budget, his birthday is still 2 months from now. Here's to more diapers...
I had no quarrel with the Philly-cheese steak sammies I made for the Doctor's birthday. But...
...you might think I had a bone to pick with my husband if you saw the pie. Yes, it looks like a radioactive dessert. No, I wasn't trying to kill anyone. The apple pie recipe calls for slits in the crust for venting. As I cut the first one, I feared it might look like a flower, which would obviously be too girly for a husband's birthday pie. I decided to make it more geometrical.
I didn't realize the final symbol until I pulled the pie out of the oven. And by then it was too late.
Thankfully he has a great sense of humor, and he doesn't mind laughing at (or with) me.
We had our ever-eventful fight with the curly tresses this morning.
If ever you wish for luscious naturally curly locks, kick yourself and quickly un-wish it.
On my honor, the tangles and tears (and overwhelming amounts of conditioner)
are not worth the gorgeousness.
I had a week long fight with this one about pulling his second loose tooth. The adult tooth had already grown 2/3 of the way in and it was dangling disgustingly by the most meager of threads. He won though... the next morning he walked up to me, wiggled the tooth with his lip, and then spit it out into my hand. Some kids just have to do it their own way.
I felt a little avenged though, when he and his smoothie had a fight and the smoothie won.
I paused the mixer, telling him I needed to check that we had added everything.
He smiled and asked, "Can I add just a little spit?"
I fear there are some fights I will never win.
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