The Family Curse: Two-Year-Old Style
I have been victimized by the old family curse: when you grow up, may you have a child just like you.
I brought Jonathan home the other evening, and I knew he was tired. First, however, it was time for dinner. He pretty much turned his nose up at his hot dog and green beans. By "pretty much turned his nose up" I mean, he threw them on the floor. I took them away, but he asked for "more, please." so I relented.
At which point he grabbed a hot dog piece and threw it on the floor. I told him to pick it up and throw it in the trash. He refused outright. So I gave him a choice: I told him he could pick it up and throw it in the trash or he could have a smack on the bottom.
I asked, "Which will it be? Will you pick it up, or do you want a smack on the bottom?"
His response: "Smack on the bottom."
Biting back laughter, I gave him the smack on the diaper. He probably knew it wasn't going to hurt (though he gave me a surprised, hurt look), and that I would indeed pick up the hot dog and throw it away for him.