I’ve created a monster.
A sweet, innocent-looking little male Penelope monster.
The other day, I was in the kitchen, making dinner. My 3-year-old, Jackson, comes in, stands next to me, face serious, fists clenched.
Jackson: “Mom, we have a problem. In the other room. It’s bad. Come with me to see.”
I’m concerned, so I follow him.
He walks into our bedroom and walks over to a specific spot on the floor and points down. “Do you see this? Do you see what’s on the floor here?”
I look down onto our cream-colored carpet and see four black pieces of fuzz on the floor.
Me: “Yeah, Daddy was putting on some new black socks, there are a few pieces of fuzz on the floor that were left behind.”
Jackson: “He just left them there. Like he didn’t need to clean them up! This is bad. We need a new dad.”
Me: “Jackson! We don’t need a new dad just because he left a few fuzzes on the floor. We just clean them up and move on. He’s your favorite daddy. You adore him! He does so many great things for you. And he loves you so much.”
Shakes his head seriously. Looks at my gravely.
Jackson: “Okay, we’ll give him one more chance. But just this once.”