Tired

This conversation happened at the dinner table the other day, when Jack was in one of his combative, miserable moods. Oh, how I dread when he gets hormones.

Jack, screaming: I DON’T CARE. I HATE IT (whatever “it” was at that particular moment).

Me, trying to be calm: Jack, one more like that and you will have a time out. That is unacceptable language. (We have a list of “bad words” that is growing daily. “Hate” is on it, currently)

Jack: I DON’T CARE.

Me: We were talking about watching a movie before bed. Your behaviour right now is making me think you are tired. If you’re too tired to remember your manners, you’re too tired to watch a movie and you will need to go to bed.

Jack, slightly calmer: Then I guess I’m tired.

Rotten, rotten, rotten.

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About therapeuticrambling

I am a wife, a mom, a nurse, a writer. I enjoy laughing.
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