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So far we& #39;re on minute 17 of 7& #39;s tantrum after I told him to scrub his fingernails as they were filthy.
Apparently it& #39;s impossible to clean them, and even if he could it won& #39;t make any difference.
Apparently it& #39;s impossible to clean them, and even if he could it won& #39;t make any difference.
Now he hates me. Screamed at the top of his lungs from the top of the stairs.
Apparently our nail scrubber is broken.
"Why don& #39;t you do it yourself?!"
Because my nails aren& #39;t dirty. Though that answer didn& #39;t appease him.
The screaming continues.
Because my nails aren& #39;t dirty. Though that answer didn& #39;t appease him.
The screaming continues.
He& #39;s given it a try now. Somehow each finger nail is half clean, though also half filled with dirt still.
He claims not to be able to see the dirt.
He claims not to be able to see the dirt.
Shit.
It& #39;s gone silent upstairs.
Part of me is relieved, part of me is wondering if he& #39;s dead.
Until I observe him, both are possible.
Observing him will no doubt alter the state, however, and I& #39;m enjoying the break in screaming.
It& #39;s gone silent upstairs.
Part of me is relieved, part of me is wondering if he& #39;s dead.
Until I observe him, both are possible.
Observing him will no doubt alter the state, however, and I& #39;m enjoying the break in screaming.
