Yesterday I was fired. In a fit of five year old rage he fired me. Stomped his foot and fired me.
"Fine." I said. "I have some things to do in town anyway, and I didn't want to have to take you with me."
"No, Mama! The police will come and you will go to jail if you leave me here!"
"Well, I guess you can't fire me then."
He looked at his toes scuffing the tiled floor. "Well, you're still fired. Just don't leave, Mama."
So I went to read a book. I was bring a little selfish, too. A whole book. While the sink sat full of dirty dishes and the dish washer was full and un-run.
"Mama?" Chapter 12. "Can I have some applesauce?"
"I don't know. You fired me."
"Then you won't care."
And I didn't.
"Mama?" Chapter 25. "Can I sit on your lap?"
"Am I still fired?"
"I guess not."
"Sure, climb up here. But try not to wiggle. I'm reading."
He slipped his thumb into his mouth and toyed with a wisp of my hair. His breathing slowed and deepened, and the wet thumb slipped from between his lips. Chapter 31.
I sighed and shifted his weight. Only 3 more chapters to go. Never mind that my left arm was asleep from the elbow down from the weight of his sweaty head. I was almost done.
I closed the back cover of my book and hefted us off the couch. I carried my boy to his bed and tucked him in.
"Night, Mama," he mumbled as I kissed his mop of hair.
"Night, Love," I replied.
*While not entirely true, this story is inspired by actual events, and he does call me Mama. He's the only one.