And the Winner Is

While we are all reluctant to admit it, it is undeniably true that, at times, parenting is less of a cooperative endeavor than it is a competition.

We've been needing to cut Eli's and Nate's claws, I mean, fingernails for far too long. While I was in the other room (doing the dishes, thank you very much) Susie tried to cut E's. She begged, pleaded, offered a check ("A what?" Well, that's a separate post) a check for just one fingernail even. There was no cutting, only whining, complaining, and crying, and Eli wasn't behaving well either.

Enter daddy. I offered to cut his nails and he walked across the bed to where I was sitting, handed me the clippers, sat in my lap, and politely held out his fingers so I could cut them. Mission accomplished.

This made Susie mad, and she started to hit me. Repeatedly. On the shoulder and on the back. The hitting was more like a massage from my perspective, but that's just between you and me. But what should happen a few minutes later? Eli comes up to me and starts hitting me. Repeatedly. On the shoulder and the back.

I call this one a draw.




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