I walk into the kitchen briskly, on a mission, only to find my son standing on a stool, with his head in the freezer, with the box of Chocolate Chip Ice cram open and a spoon in his mouth.
No bowl, no time for that!
I was so shocked all I said was “Jacob?!”
To which he turned to tears and ran to his room, giving himself more punishment than I had planned to.
At least it wasn't down his underwear this time.
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1 comment:
Poor baby. Just the thought of trouble is enough. Well played, Susan.
You have that boy trained. Now you can just put it on auto pilot and cruise until he's 18.
Don't quote me.
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