The boy was just a one child circus today at church. Oh. My. Good. Ness. He was in fine form–never truly horrible enough for me to take him out and warm the seat of his britches (which hasn’t happened in YEARS), but just beyond words. He was up. He was down. He was happy. He was mopey. He wanted Victoria. He didn’t want Victoria. He wanted me. He didn’t want me. It’s at times like this that I seat him next to his Daddy, however his Daddy was serving communion this morning, so we had to suffer through the large part of the worship service without him.
The capper was when, at the end of services, I looked over to see Thad with his church bag over his head. Over his head, y’all. I just elbowed Tony and said, “Your son has a bag on his head.” He immediately became the ward of his father, and thank goodness it was almost time to go.
As I rode home, exhausted though Tony had taken pity on me and honored my request for a diet Coke from Sonic to drink ON THE WAY home, the following conversation began taking place in the back seat.
Thad: “Sister? You’re not the boss of me.”
Thad: “Hey! You’re not the boss of me.”
Thad (singing as though on a playground saying Nah-Nah-Nah-Boo-Boo. You can’t catch me.):
“You’re not the boss of me. You’re not the boss of me. You’re not the boss of me.”
Tony: Unable to correct his son due to silently stifling laughter
Me: “THADDAEUS WALTON THAT IS ENOUGH!!!!!”
(Three minutes of golden silence followed.)
Thad: “Hey, Sister, guess what???”
Victoria (rather tiredly expecting the answer): “What?”
Thad (as though he’d won a prize): “You’re not the boss of me!!!”