Tonawanda News — Today was one of those days as a father they’d make a second-rate comedy out of featuring Diane Lane (no relation, in case you were curious) and Steve Martin.
Rigby went all “Three Bears” on me this morning when he was getting dressed (first pair of pants too small, second pair too big, third one just right). He and Penny helped me with some baking when they got home from school — and by “help” I mostly mean argue over who got to crack the eggs and hurl batter bits at each other.
Rigby wanted cereal for dinner, which is easy enough unless you make the conscious choice to drop it on yourself. That in itself isn’t the worst offense, but it’s exacerbated when you just gave your son a bath 30 minutes prior (after, incidentally, he had not just one toilet accident but two).
Well, actually, that number should be 2.5. His third incident wasn’t technically an accident, but telling your father you have to go to the bathroom and then peeing into the bathroom garbage can is sort of in that gray area, so I will count it. So — after prying him away from the cupcakes we’d just baked — I had no recourse but to send him up for an early bedtime as punishment.
He seemed contrite after the initial disappointment of the punishment wore off. I even read him “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” while he laid down, seemingly content to drift off into a good night’s sleep.
Instead, the little bugger Trojan horsed me.
I went in to give him one last hug at his request. He grabbed my arm and and got a death grip on it with his teeth that’s still throbbing as I write this hours later. I forced him back into bed again ... and again ... and again. It took 30 more minutes of cajoling to get him back in bed and calmly waiting for sleep to come.