It was pretty epic. It began with him punching me in the gut and ended shortly after him sobbing about how he doesn't have a mother anymore. The kid knows every button to push, and if I wasn't a disgruntled, seasoned parent already, I might have burst in there with a big hug, a declaration of "yes, you do have a mother, you poor thing!", and a promise to try and dodge his punches better so as to avoid these sorts of fiascos in the future.
But I didn't. I held my ground until he apologized - profusely, I might add - and then went off to reclaim my part of the mountain.
When it comes to stubbornness, I'm the goat with the biggest horns - but only by half an inch or so. And I'm pretty sure he files his to a point in an attempt to get any advantage he can.
Part of the reason for his behaviour is fatigue, no doubt. It's been a long and busy holiday season that's nowhere near over yet. And he's bored; the kid is so extraverted he makes me look like a recluse (and if you know me at all, then you know what an impressive feat that is). He practically burst out of my uterus demanding to be amused by all around him.
This afternoon, Spawn had spent a good twenty minutes getting himself dressed up in his best rocker look, only to find out that no one wanted to play "band" with him. He was heartbroken. So, rather than spike my hair up and jump on the
Here's how the diva fared during his session:
When he was done, he said, "Ok, that's it. No more pictures!"
I replied with, "Can we get one more of you leaning on the guitar? Please? Just one?"
He got up and handed me the instrument. "Look: When I say 'no more pictures,' it means 'no more pictures.' No means no, right? Right. Ok, then." And he walked out of the room.
I don't think he was playing rockstar.