Sickness and Hammers

Call me Mother of the Year.

It's official: Mother of the Year is not allowed to be sick. Gospel according to Peanut.

Peanut is currently bouncing with glee because I have returned to the land of the living. Finally. I'm back to my usual pursuit of happiness involving trains and toy hammers. I should mention that the toy hammer is a matter of some contention; Peanut is convinced that he needs Boomer's hammer. I, not surprisingly, object to giving the three-year-old Daddy's hammer. For once, I win, but only because Peanut gets distracted from his fight about hammers by the joys of his train.

Ah, the train. I'm not sure if Boomer understands completely that this is not his toy, but he surely gets an inordinate amount of pleasure both setting it up for Peanut and spending endless hours playing with him. Being a mere female visiting in the Testosterone Zone, I confess that my patience for fixing Peanut's destruction of his train tracks is limited. Very limited. However, I realize that the taking apart of train tracks is vital to his development. And he's already figuring out problem solving.

Since Peanut has decided that the keyboard looks more attractive than even his beloved trains, the session comes to an end. Here begins the temper tantrum because I decide that it's more important to have a computer than let the Peanut do his worst to the keyboard.

Call me Mother of the Year.