Evil, Evil, Evil

Sometimes my sister tells me stories of things her kids have done, and then, as if through ESP, my children absorb and repeat these ordeals. One example of this was last spring: Tommy was just under 2 years old when he made like his cousins and busted out of Sarah's house with a large bottle of hand soap. I found him in the street a few minutes later, playing with the bottle of soap as a car rolled up the street.

A similar cousin-style feisty action began occurring this week. Now that Tommy realizes he can control his urine stream, he stashes away just a tad of pee for each time he is forced to take a nap, say goodnight, or go in timeout. "But I peeeeeeeed!" He cries, pointing to the drop of urine on his pants. For about the first 6 times this happened, John and I played along, exasperatedly changing his outfit and letting him postpone bed and/or punishment.

No longer, kid. We're onto you.

Today, I informed Tommy that poop or pee, he'd be finishing his timeouts no matter what incident occurred in his pants. The look on his face was just priceless.

You can try, Tomster, but you'll never win.