Not Your Mother

Last night after fun in the mud and clean up, the boys and I watched a little tv. Blaine, as usual, took his spot on my lap. Noticing his runny nose, I instructed him to go get a tissue and wipe it. He did so and then returned the tissue to me, to where I laid it on the floor. Blaine said, "The kweenex goes in the twash, Mom, not the floor." I said, "Yes, and I'll go put it there in a minute. OR even better, YOU can go put it in the trash." Then he said in a sweet, little voice, "No, because I'm not your mother."

Wait, what?