Sunday, May 30, 2010

A conversation with my Eight Year Old

Eight Year Old: My breakfast is cold. Why didn't you tell me it was ready?

Mother: I did you ran upstairs instead on listening to me. You need to listen to me when I am talking to you.

Eight Year Old: You need to talk to me when I am listening to you.

Mother: (pulling out hair, and sighing in exasperation) Child because become a lawyer when you grow older so you can use all of that ability of yours for good and to pay off my therapy.

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