Boy One is My Husband, Just Smaller

Boy One is being an uncooperative punk, and my husband is mad.

Boy One is five, and my husband is an adult, but at the moment, it is hard to tell the difference.

Both of them need a time-out, but instead they yell at each other, locked in conflict, for longer than I would wish, neither willing to back down or retire.

After far too long, they are calm, and I venture to speak.

"Why don't you call your mom and ask her what you were like when you were five?" I suggest.

"Why don't you call your mom?" he throws back.

"She said I didn't listen until I was thirty," I replied, "and with that, she's being generous."

"I'm not calling my mom," he declared.

"Have it your way," I respond, grinning.

(I bet he was exactly the same.)

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