Rough night tonight.
Little Bear is in the throes of the potty mouth phase, and it's quickly getting on the nerves of the entire family. While I enjoy a good fart joke as much as the next guy, there's a difference, you know? He's constantly calling his brothers potty names, and his trash talking has gotten out of control.
The Wife had already disciplined him this morning, and we had spoken to him a half dozen times during dinner, and when he got in the bathtub, he started on his brother: I wish you had been born without arms (long story), you're stupid, you're a butt, you smell like poop, etc. We finally lost patience.
So, instead of watching The Empire Strikes Back with the rest of us, he went to bed immediately after his bath. He was dramatically unhappy about this, particularly since he wanted to watch this movie. It is one of the all-time greats. But, despite the crying and begging and name calling (which defeated the purpose of convincing us that he wasn't going to call names), he was banished upstairs.
The Baby was asleep before they were off Hoth, as expected. He had a long day. I dumped him in bed while Luke was convincing R2D2 to change course to Dagobah.
The Boy then decided to sit on my lap and fart on me. Which, actually, is pretty funny - except when you're on the receiving end. He's been told about this before, multiple times. On one hand, I like that I relax him enough that his body works well. On the other hand... it's cute when a baby farts on your lap. Not so much when the baby is seven and a half.
After the second time, he was given a final warning, the movie paused, and a bathroom break enforced. So, afterwards, he sat on my lap and farted again.
Off to bed, Lord Stinkbottom. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. We didn't even get to see Han frozen in Carbonite.
Tomorrow night we'll try to finish the movie off.
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