Rough Night for Cal Cal

Poor Calvin. He’s had a rough night. First I made him pick up toys, cruel woman that I am. Then, when he staged a not-so-peaceful protest, I issued the “one spankin’ for every toy left when the timer dings” threat. If he could have seen the toys, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But would I point them out to him? No, I would not. And so he was unable to find them without much searching and crying. Fortunately, right before the timer went off, several of the toys must have made their whereabouts known or something, because he managed to find most of them at the last minute and escape with only two swats. I heard him sobbing and talking to the mirror in the bathroom (brings back memories of my own childhood…), so I eavesdropped.

“…I can never figure out where the toys ARE, because Mommy never SHOWS me where they are, because she’s MEAN! I don’t want her to be mean, but she doesn’t do it! That’s why, because she hates me! (sob)”

When he came to find me casually sitting on the couch, (where I had been the whole time, because I certainly wasn’t outside the bathroom door laughing at him), he walked with a severe limp. Each drag of the foot was accompanied by some type of whine or cry. I ignored the limp, of course. That’s protocol for injuries around here. Especially severe ones. But he was still limping after tooth-brushing and story time. So, I asked him about his ailment. He sniffled that he and Reed were playing in our bedroom and Reed said that the bed was a swimming pool, “And I did a cannonball, and now it hurts right here.”  Is it bad that I had a hard time not laughing out loud?  I’m gonna feel like the world’s worst mother when I find out he has a stress fracture tomorrow. I just hope he doesn’t have anything that requires a cast. Calvin and crutches? New worst nightmare.