Whose Child is this?

Last week, Carson's preschool class performed an end of the year program that consisted of farm songs. The school yard was completely decorated in farm fashion, including the children in hats and bandannas. Carson just stood there, staring aimlessly, during the entire performance and didn't sing a single song.

At the end of the program, Amy, the co-owner of the preschool, and a very dear friend of ours, thanked the parents for choosing her school and read the poem, "Whose Child is This?"

Amy is pregnant. Hormones were raging. She cried as she read. I cried as she read. I had no excuse other than I was happy that I choose a school that cares about my child as much as I do.

That story leads me to the next one.

Yesterday, Carson mentioned that he was hungry and proceeded to the refrigerator then to the freezer. He pulled out a bag of very old, frozen peas. So frozen indeed that they were completely iced together. He placed them in a bowl and I broke them apart with an ice pick. He then sat in front of the television watching cartoons and ate the ENTIRE bowl of frozen peas and I thought, "Whose Child is this??" He's certainly not mine.

Last week a similar story occurred. I had made chicken and corn for dinner. Carson looked at his plate and threw a tantrum because he didn't want corn. He wanted broccoli! "Really?" I thought, "Whose child is this?"

Those who know me, know that I don't like anything green, so he must NOT be mine.

But I'll keep him... for now.