This week, in response to my exasperation over some new messy disaster my son brought down upon the house, Gavin, with extreme patience, placed his hand on my arm and said:
“Mom, sometimes I’m good and sometimes I’m bad.”
In the tone of “just get used to it.” Damn. He is only four. It seems to me that this realization shouldn’t really have come to him until he was at least 11 or 12. At four, you should still believe that if you tried really hard you could be good for your mom all the time.
I’m in so much trouble.