So, tonight, I coerced The Boy into helping me unload coats, sneakers, and dirty preschool clothes from Grandma's car. He threw a moderate fit about it, which I'm perfectly okay with: I waited the requisite two minutes until he got over it, then brought him downstairs anyway. Since he was making a fuss, I gave him a choice: one item to carry that I picked, or two items that he picked. He chose one item that I picked.
Since I'm an instigator and a pain in the rear, I then packed everything we had to carry into a box, then told him that the one item he would carry would be the box. (Closed, of course.) That was considerably heavier and more of a pain than the two items would otherwise have been.
Moral of the story: when Daddy offers you a choice with one easy choice and one hard choice, take the hard choice. The easy choice never is.
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