The Boy has been in his room since 9. It's 11. He's standing as his gate, yelling at us. We're not going to go in there yet; we're going to give him some time to work it out.
He's wily, though. He cries for a little while, then stops and listens for motion in the house. The Wife and I are sitting in the living room, having our first conversation of the week. We're pausing when he does, just to see what happens.
He had retreated to his bed for a little while, none too pleased about it. Now he's back at the gate. He's persistent, determined, stubborn, and intelligent. That's a dangerous combination. Or, to put it another way, he's a pain in the tushy.
He is my son, no doubt, but I don't know that I ever manipulated the situation like he does.
Now he's back in bed, but still loud. The Wife just wondered if music might make a difference, like it does Younger Bro. Not sure.
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