I have reached a milestone in parenting: I have had my first “wait till your father comes home” moment.
I knew things weren’t going well at home yesterday. Thanks to the miracles of Web 2.0, I don’t even have to wait for a phone call to know Eli and Liza are spinning around wildly and creating chaos in their wake. It finally got bad enough that Misty called and asked me to come home early.
That was right before Eli threw both a temper tantrum and a toy at Misty.
At some point in the last few weeks, trolls snuck in and replaced Eli with a changeling, presumably because we haven’t baptized him. He’s been getting angrier, complete with foot stomping and fist clenching. He’s like a mini Bobby Knight, only instead of a chair he threw a squeaky toy at Misty.
When I got home, he’d been sitting in his room for a while. I got to have That Talk, the one I always hated when I was a kid. You know the one: a parent sits down and has you say what you did wrong and then explains why it’s wrong and geez, couldn’t you just paddle me and get it over with?
On the other hand, this is giving me a good break from Zack and Wiki for a while.