My son, by the way, doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of boundary besides the definition of “something you cross or push”. I’d swear the child was 14, not 4. When Whiteybare moved in, I informed Little Guy that he was NOT to go into Whiteybare’s room without express permission. I even defined the boundary by the piece of wood across the threshold. At that point, my child slid his foot halfway over the piece of wood and stopped. When I caught him he pulled his foot back and then slowly did the same thing with his arm. When I redefined the boundary as any part of the piece of wood, he laid down on the floor with his head in his hands and inched closer to the threshold.
He’s lucky I love him.
This weekend is Mother’s Day. I adore my mom; I think this is well known. Despite the craziness she passed down to me, she is still a wonderful mother. And this weekend, we’re going to see her. I can’t wait until she gets her “new” car plated so I can go back to seeing her on a weekly basis. I miss my Mother-daughter days. We used to have days like that when I was little, where I would spend time with my mom only. We did shopping then too, but I always loved spending time with my mom. I remember that was one of the things my step-father hated. He felt that my wanting to spend time with my mom was a sign I was “cowed” by her and under her thumb. I suspect anyone who knows me would be amused by the idea that I would be cowed by anyone, and my mom would find it funny that I was cowed by her in particular.
Why do I get the impression that my son will be the same way?
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