Bamboom

"Dad you're mean to everyone in the whole world," he said without casting the slightest glance in my direction.

His lips were pouting and he was giving his swing a very half-hearted and forlorn push.

"The world thinks you're," he paused to formulate the meanest zinger his 3-year-old knowledge base could muster and, when that failed, he continued, "something that's mean."

I bit my lip so that I wouldn't laugh.  My head was pounding and I was still mad.  How did we get to this point?

2 minutes earlier...

I banished Logan from the immediate vicinity in a fit of rage.  My head was throbbing and I didn't care where he went as long as he wasn't near me.  So, he glowered his way over to the swing set where commenced an epic snit.

2 minutes before that...

We had been sitting together in the grass.  While I assembled the new patio furniture, Logan exclaimed about the fact that we were now growing bamboo in our yard.  Suddenly, I began to see stars and a sharp and excruciating stinging began to form at the base of my skull.  Looking around for the source of the pain, I saw Logan standing next to me holding a 1 x 4.  Somewhere in the middle of me explaining that it wasn't actually bamboo, but merely the way the grass looked, Logan found the board on the lawn.  He must not have like my explanation.  I swore loudly!

"What are you doing?" I shouted.

"Look, Dad!  A piece of wood," he exclaimed, wielding the lumber like a stick fighter, though his enthusiasm was rapidly diminishing under the crushing weight of my murderous expression.

You can pout all you want, Logan.  I may have hurt your feelings by swearing at you, but you hurt my feelings by trying to cleave my head in two.

- 13 May 2012