And he got off easy.
It was like this: C woke up this morning and went through the usual routine:
C: “Here I am!”
Me: “Excellent! Good morning!” *kiss*
C: “Are we going to the teachers’ today?”
Me: “Yes” *bracing myself*
Every day we go through this, every day. In the weekends, I say “no” and he wails “WHYYYYYYYY??
C: “Can I have ice cream?”
*sigh* Every. Damn. Morning.
Then the variations start.
C: “Can I have juice?”
Me: “Sure! Here!” *pouring good measure of juice in sports bottle*
C: “More! More juice! Fill it!”
Me: “No, that is enough.”
C: “I don’t want juice.”
Me: “Drink it.”
C: “No, I don’t want juice.”
Me: “Drink. It.” *foolishly turning my back*
C: “Oops! I spilled my juice!”
Unbeknownst to the little devil, I had put his juice in the sports bottle PRECISELY because I suspected criminal intent in his “accidental” juice spills, so instead of a lagoon of watermelon juice there was only a scant half cup on the floor. Most of the juice stayed in the bottle.
Still, half a cup of watermelon juice on the floor calls for a lot of mopping.
So I put him in time out while I cleaned the %$#@!#$! floor, and then I sat next to him and made him drink the rest of the juice.
All of it.
Down to the last freaking DROP.
It took quite a while.
He fussed. He whined. He hemmed, He hawed. He called for his dad. He called for my mom. He cried. He wept. He said I was bad. I would have laughed if I wasn’t so mad. (hey, a poem!)
But finally, he drank the damned juice.
And do you know what he said when he finished it???
I wish I was joking.