Tonight Thomas doesn't like me very much. You see, I didn't know that he wanted to ride the car down from the driveway. And when he was throwing a fit in the trees, yelling and carrying on, I told him that if he treated me better when I came home from work tomorrow, then I'd give him a ride. Today, however, I would not be giving him a ride because he was talking so mean to me and throwing a tantrum about it. Of course, later he was still mad at me that I made him chicken nuggets and wouldn't feed him chocolate chips for supper. Not letting him go upstairs to see Grandma and Grandpa (they were leaving for a meeting) sent him over the edge. Knowing exhaustion was playing the largest role in this production, I carried him crying and kicking to bed, complete with his stuff animals and bottomless juice cup. He refused to cuddle with me, he refused to let me read him a story. "Go away," he cried.
"I love you, Thomas," I said, tucking him in.
He pushed me away. "Well, I don't love you!" he replied.
I kissed his forehead.
"Don't kiss me, not now, and not in the morning!" he huffed at me.
I kissed him anyway, trying not to smile just a bit at the dirt-streaked tears edging down his face. "I love you, Thomas," I said again, bending down one more time.
"Well, I SAID I don't love you," he repeated, trying to avoid my dead on kiss.
"Good thing I love you enough for the both of us then," I said, and headed out the door.
I didn't know the cracks begin at 4 years old.....
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