Recent conversation in the car:
“Mommy, know who my favorite is?” (Favorite what? I did not ask. There are only so many conversations I can be an active part of every day. And erratic, mercurial and capricious all describe her opinions. Who can keep up?)
“No.”
“Grandpa Charles! Who’s your favorite?”
“Um…..Daddy.”
“Know who Daddy’s favorite is??” (Me? His highly tolerant and understanding spouse who puts up with so much….?)
“No, who?”
“Becca!” (That would be our lazy-assed dog.)
Her comment about Daddy would be very amusing, except for it being completely true.
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That sounds like a country song. Maybe you should put it to music.
Just a reminder: all four year olds are consumate liars. Not in the shifty, eight year old, I didn’t do it kind of way, standing next to the broken lamp. But the you’ve never looked slimmer in those red floral pants, cease fire in the Middle East, tug at your heart strings, honey you know I love you even more when you are pregnant kind of lies. The ones you buy into because your heart says yes when your head is calling you and idiot for believing.
Yes, as a country song, I’d have DH run off with the dog on a train, leaving me broke and alone and with the pickup truck. Yes?
And she is a liar, a busy liar. All the time. Mostly to avoid trouble she’s in or to suck up. Already the sucking up!
Ah yes, the sucking up. The good news to that one is you have all the control. They wouldn’t suck up if they didn’t want something. Nows the time to start the “what are you going to do for me first” precident. My particular favorite was cleaning. You want a ride to Silverdale, I want the living room dusted. Isn’t it great how things work out. I don’t think she thought it was so great, but it worked well for me. I’d much rather drive than dust.