Now that my child is approaching the advanced age of four, I'm starting to feel pretty darn sick of doing every little thing for him. As a result of my mounting maternal laziness, I've recently implemented a few new household rules:
1) Wipe yer own damn rear. And yes, that goes for Jared, too.
2) Put your own shirt on your own body. And if your find yourself hopelessly tangled up? Cut your own shirt off your own body (please be sure to ask for permission before using the scissors).
3) Make your own snacks. And drinks. And appointments with the pediatrician.
Yesterday afternoon James blitzed into the living room short of breath with his tongue hanging from the corner of his mouth. "Mommy," he heaved. "I'm firsty. Can I haf...(heavy breathing)...some water?"
"Rule number three, buddy. You need to get the water yourself." And he blitzed back out of the living room, into the dining room where I could hear him dragging a chair over to the cup cabinet.
"Got it, Mom!" And I heard him trample into the bathroom.
James, you see, prefers to fill his cup from the bathroom sink--thanks to the foot stool the faucets are far easier for him to reach, and there are no mountains of pots and pans to contend with.
James filled his cup and carefully walked back to the living room to show me his accomplishment. He stood in front of me, smiling big and still breathing hard. He had a wet upper lip and an even wetter left arm.
"How'd you do, Buddy," I asked?
"Uh, good Mom. Today I dunked my cup."