He was driving me crazy yesterday, so when he wanted to go outside in the back yard and play, I gratefully allowed it and closed the door after him to continue making dinner. I checked on him. He was sliding pieces of wood down his slide. Approved activity. I smiled at him and told him that I loved him. He needed to hear it. There had been a lot of reprimanding that afternoon. He smiled back at me and, in a love-induced bout of honesty, said, "I ate dog food."
"You went into the garage and ate the dog's food?"
*sigh* "Don't do that. That's really gross and it will make your tummy hurt. Don't eat dog food and don't even go into the garage. You know you're not allowed to do that."
I went back to making dinner. He eventually came rushing inside, "Mommy!! I want to show you what's in my bucket!"
"Okay, Sweetie. I'll come see, but let me finish putting this together and get it into the oven."
"Otay, but I want to show you what's in my bucket."
This went on for the next five minutes, while I finished dinner. Finally, after more nagging than the end of the day has patience for, I asked him, "Why don't you just TELL me what's in your bucket and I'll come and look when I'm done?"
"Charcoal? You put Charcoal in your bucket?"
I wrote, "get a hysterectomy" on my to-do list and lectured him about charcoal. Which he already knows he's not allowed to touch. He's so no ready for self-supervision yet.
Frozen dinners forever.