His mother must be a saint.
There comes a time in every parent’s life when you have to choose to love your kids or your stuff more.
I choose stuff.
Perhaps you remember how Wesley almost didn’t survive my kitchen table refurbishment last summer. It was bad, and it turned out I hadn’t fully gotten over it.
Because when I came home 20 minutes after Kyla and Wesley one afternoon, and saw Wesley gouging my table with a pair of scissors, AUGH! I still can’t even relive it.
I do know that hours later, over dinner, Dwayne was trying to reconcile me and Wesley…and failing. Wesley offered to vacuum the stairs, pay me $9, or refinish the table next summer. None of those were either enough or reasonable.
Wesley and I had to get a place where we could live not being able to make mistakes right again.
But don’t think I rose above being pissy for a long, long, long time.
And he may want to hope that I’m not put in the position of having to choose between him and furniture. Because I usually root for the underdog.
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