Who wears the pants in our family? Let's find out...
Sitting at the kitchen table this morning, my 4-year-old's video game and my word search finished simultaneously. As I watched him put the cartridge back in the case, I was reminded to resume an earlier conversation.
"Logan," I said. "Remember the cartridge that you lost in our bed last night? I found it and it's sitting on our dresser."
There was a mid-sized discussion over the confusion I had apparently caused by referring to the game
card as a
cartridge. It took nearly every ounce of strength and concentration I possessed not to leap up and shake the entire bag of game
cartridges in his little face. Once that was settled, I picked up where we had left off.
"Next time you lose track of something like that (notice how I completely side-stepped making any mention of the video game components) you should tell us right away so we can help you find it," I reminded him.
He nodded.
"Why didn't you ask for help last night?" I asked.
"I didn't want to interrupt Mom and bother her while she was watching her television shows," he said, with concern.
Well, kid, I don't blame you for that.
"Sweetheart, you can always bother us," I said. "Any time," I added.
He looked up from what he was doing and stared directly at me.
"Is Mom okay with that?"
