I have officially become the mother from A Christmas Story. Serving my sweet child her dinner:
“Mom, the buttons on this dress are going up my butt.”
Take it off.
“Can you do it?”
*washes hands/leaves kitchen/unzips dress/walks back to kitchen*
“Mom, can you get me something to wear? I am freezing.”
I think you can do that. *attempts to prepare own dinner*
“Mom. This tag is killing me. Cut it out.”
You’ve worn that shirt a thousand times.
“Cut. It . OUT.”
Can you say ‘please?’
“Please?”
*washes hands/leaves kitchen/grabs scissors/cuts out tag/walks back to kitchen*
“Mom, can I have more water? And I need a napkin.”
*washes hands/leaves kitchen/grabs cup/refills water/grabs napkin/delivers/heads back to kitchen*
I am glad you’re eating all your cucumbers, but don’t forget to eat your spaghetti.
“I won’t.”
*heads back to kitchen*
“Mom, can you get me some ham?”
*washes hands/gets ham/slices ham/serves ham/heads back to kitchen*
“Mom, I dropped some spaghetti.*
*washes hands/stuffs face full of bowl of spaghetti/gives up*
