My son was whining about having to take a bath. I bribed him with ice cream. It always works. He's now sloshing around in a tub full of bubbles with a bowl of neopolitan on the edge of the tub. Don't worry. The bowl is plastic. (See my tweet from Sunday if you want the backstory on this one.)
I just reminded the 9 year old boy that his 3 year old self used to call shampoo 'shamPOOP'. The emphasis was his. He would just giggle and giggle when he said it. I think it was probably the first joke he ever made up. He also used to mix up 'can't' and 'don't'. He would say, "I can't want that." or "I can't like that." It was as if he had tried his very hardest, but he just couldn't manage to develop a taste for spinach. I have loved every stage of his life. I keep thinking that I wish I could freeze time and keep him at this age forever. But then he gets to the next stage and I think the same thing. Still, those cute toddler years were so much fun.
My stellar parenting is scarring him deeply, I'm sure. He will either be in therapy for obsessive compulisve disorder blaming me for forcing him to bathe daily, or he will be in therapy for an eating disorder and blaming me for parenting him with ice cream. Either way it's a win/win. I get to have lots of fun messing up his delicate psyche, and he gets to have lots of fun hating me for it. And his therapist will stop on the way home from his long day of listening to neurotic people refuse to take responsibility for their own lives and buy himself a dip cone at Dairy Queen.
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