My darling Brett is starting to talk more…and more…and more. Great, that’s what we want.
But he uses his talking to get out of being bad. It’s not working in his favor.
There is a corner of the living room the boys aren’t allowed near. That is MY corner. When I’m “working” on my writing or reading that’s where my stuff goes and where I keep my *%&@#$^ netbook. (I hate my netbook with a burning passion. First thing I do with the check if I’m ever published is purchase a proper laptop. Which I should have gotten in the first place, but nooooo I had to jump on the netbook bandwagon. GRAH!)
But that’s so mean! To ban your children from a corner of the living room. Yeah, well…it’s mine.
Brett Michael is in the I’m not listening to anything anyone says because I’m Brett Michael stage. He goes in that corner constantly. Trips over the power cord to above mentioned netbook cable and has ruined it.
What does he do when momma yells at him? Looks at me, pats my head and says, “Yeah momma.”
I’m at the point that I tell my sweet monster, “Don’t yeah momma me, just do it!”
What does he do? Pats my head, kisses my cheek and says, “Yeah momma.”
10 minutes later, he’s back in my corner.