Emerson, putting the threenager pedal to the metal these days.
Getting ready for bed tonight, he started throwing his water bottle in protest of having to put on pajamas.

I warned that I would take away the water bottle if he did not stop chucking it around. (It was full, and heavy, and the room is not that big, and his brother was rolling around on the floor without a helmet – not that I need a single reason). He threw it 2 more times in rapid succession, so I took it away. Poured out the water and put the bottle on an unreachable shelf in the bathroom.

He pouted, cried, begged, wheedled, demanded, cajoled, pleaded, and cried some more to get it back.

Please! (No.)
Please? (No.)
etc etc etc for like half an hour literally

Finally, he stood up and walked out of the room without a word. I assumed he was going to get a drink from his water cup in the kitchen…until I heard the clunk of an empty water bottle on the bathroom counter, and the water turning on, and the bottle filling up.

He’d gone to the kitchen, all right, but instead of drinking inferior cup water, he got a fresh water bottle from the drawer and filled it up himself.

I went to help him screw the top on tight. Wordlessly.

Because that’s what you do, right? When the universe has a laugh and gives you a kid just like you but with more energy and fewer inhibitions?

You give up. You pitch in. You take your half-victory, and he takes his.

You try not to think about velociraptors opening door knobs. Not tonight.

#xpost via Instagram

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