Vaughn employs every diversionary tactic at his disposal to extend his bedtime. Each evening after being put to bed, he makes his customary quota of trips upstairs to our bedroom for one reason or another, always something legitimate, of course, some emergency of one form or another. Last night after summoning us downstairs numerous times and making the predictable 20-30 trips upstairs, his approach was heralded once again by dramatic sighs, thumps and other assorted noises intended to maximize the parental emotional response. Finally, after much anticipation, his head crowns the top of the stairs, and after a long, theatrical sigh, he looks at us with as much woefulness as he can muster and pronounces:
“I’m having a bad reality.”
Yeah? Me, too.
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