As Rye gets older, he gets naughtier.
The worst consequence of this: Mommy gets meaner.
Lately, it goes like this:
Me: "Rye, don't run with that long stick please."
Me: "Rye, please don't hit the brand-new walls in our basement with that stick."
Me: "Rye, please don't hit the kitty with the stick."
Rye, exasperated: "What CAN I do?"
And then I feel bad.
At Wal-Mart last weekend, I actually said, "Rye, please don't make me be this kind of Mommy."
This was after he had repeatedly run away from me to hide inside the clothes racks and dropped a ceramic dog-food bowl on the floor where it shattered into pieces.
But I love him anyway, of course, even when he's naughty.
Now, if Mommy can just try to temper the bad even more and be nice while doing it.