Battle of Wills

Jackson and I are currently betting on who can be the most stubborn. 

He has sat on that piano bench since 1:30 pm this afternoon. 

I have listened to the whining and complaining since 1:30 pm this afternoon.

Apparently it is possible to become injured while sitting on a piano bench. 

He is my least task-oriented child, which for his highly efficient mother is rather frustrating, especially since we have school in our future and I do not like the idea of pestering and badgering the entire morning to get him to brush his teeth, get dressed, and say his prayers. 

I'll let you know how my grand scheme works out. 

**but like most of our schemes, this one will probably fail.  I'm open to any inspiration God chooses to send me. 


I think the compassionate factor that comes standard in women skipped me.

Actually, I know it did.

And I expect too much of my children. 

**a part of me wishes that I could experience a day in their brain.  See how their thought processes work.  So that when one of them comes up to them and just randomly smacks the other, I really do know what they were thinking. 

Jackson woke up one night screaming.  My first instinct?  Let him.  He's safe, warm, and perfectly capable of speech.  If I come to him at night all the time, then he'll think night time is for playing not for sleeping yada yada yada 

**call me sleep nazi

Thankfully, the girl side of my brain (which is less dominant than the boy side) said, "Rachelle, he's 3 years old."

Oh yeah.

I went in, and just held him.  Then he wanted me to lay down by him and sing him a song.  Again, first instinct?  NO!  It will cause bad sleep habits, he'll wake up every night expecting this, he's just delaying going back to bed....and on and so forth. 

Again, girl side of brain prevailed.  "He's 3 years old!  (apparently I have a hard time remembering this).  Love him.  Sing to him.  Lay down by him.  You want him to remember you as a mom who spent time with him and loved him, not a mom who taught him good sleeping habits and taught him to be tough."

I sang. 

Then went to my bedroom and cried. 

After I cried, I wrote it down.  Maybe I'll remember it next time.