After running off to visit the relatives today, my 2 year-old son and I end his day with the battle of wills.
I will lose. I always lose.
After the boy convinces me that he can't go to bed with out a glass of milk (this is communicated through vigorous hand gestures, babbling, and something that resembles the sound a cricket makes) I pour him a glass and then sit on the couch with him, to basically keep him out of trouble.
Luckily, mommy gets to step in and be the ogre. She tells me that the boy only gets 1/2 c of milk at bedtime... and that he was just going to 'milk' it.
Yes... not as funny as she thought it was.
I think fast. "Ummm. Ok, after Daddy goes to the bathroom it's bedtime." He nods, puts down his cup and proceeds to follow me into the bathroom.
Now, I'm getting ready to go and he's standing there at, well at 'that' level.
This should not be a problem, but the intense stare is starting to make me uncomfortable. So I start to go, and he starts clapping. Clapping. I now believe that I am some sort of performance art for the two year old set.
Apparently satisfied with my performance, he grabs the toilet plunger and makes way to the toilet. Quickly I shush him over to the side, where he begins plunging the floor and starts clucking.
Oy. Another day down.