This Is Why I'm Not A Lawyer

So this morning (no, yesterday morning, this middle-of-the-night post is brought to you by my baby, who loves herself a midnight meal) was perfectly typical: Kraken slooowly ate his Cocoa Puffs, Doodle ran naked and squealing around the room, Burrito chilled out in her swing, and one dog dug through the trash while the other tried to sneak onto the table.

T-Rex? Well, he and I were engaged in an epic battle of wills over his footwear. Meaning, I wanted him to wear something on his feet, while he would prefer to be barefoot and fancy-free. I mean, Mother, really. Shoes are utterly unnecessary and you should be grateful I've consented to wear clothing, unlike that feral creature over there banging her head into the wall. Perhaps you should consider taking her to some sort of specialist.

Or at least that's what he was trying to say. It mostly came out as "NOOO!" and "I DON'T WANT TO!" and "NO FAIR!" And I'm all, dude, take it up with the school, they have the "no shoes, no shirt, no education" policy. And also my eardrums are bleeding, so put on the fucking shoes and shut up.

Not in those exact words. I don't think. Sometimes the seventeen minutes of sleep I get a night can make reality seem a little fuzzy.

So I try to calmly explain, through gritted teeth and throbbing eyeballs, that the wearing of shoes is going to happen, that is the reality in which you live. And he's all UNACCEPTABLE!

And it happened. I snapped out, "You know what? There are kids in this world who DON'T HAVE ANY SHOES! You are LUCKY! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!"

I mean, what? Does any kid, after hearing about poor unfortunate children who don't have whatever they're pitching a fit about, suddenly become overcome with gratitude? Has that happened, in the history of ever? It certainly didn't happen with T-Rex, whose feet had to forcibly inserted into his shoes. And wasn't that a party and a half.