The boy just doesn't get it
This morning I just about hit my limit with Robert. It was 6:55, and his van driver, Jen, was scheduled to pull into the driveway within the next five minutes. Yet he was sitting there, casually cross-legged, in a kitchen chair, munching on a cinnamon roll danish.
I told him that he had to get ready.
"I just got up and I'm having breakfast," he said defiantly. Then he went back to munching on the roll, staring off into space.
There was no sense of urgency. No recognition that he was running desperately late and that he was about to inconvenience other people. Only that *he* was having breakfast, and that was apparently the center of the universe.
It was a supremely arrogant, rude and totally self-centered gesture. And that is most certainly *not* how I've raised my children to be.
So I started yelling like a drill sergeant.
Finally he started to move. Slowly. And only grudgingly.
At one point, I threatened to throw him outside in his underwear. And so help me God, if he pulls that on me again, I will make good on that promise.