Amy: “Mom, I made a grocery list for you.”
Me: “Okay. Let’s see what you want. Ice cream sandwiches, push pops, popsicles, kool-aid, bread and cake?”
Amy: “No. Bread cake. Like Daddy puts with strawberries.”
Me: “Oh. Angel food cake.”
Amy: “Yes! Go get it now.”
Me: “No. Maybe I’ll go tomorrow. It’s past bedtime. Not tonight.”
Amy: walks away grumbling
The next morning I stumbled upstairs carrying Evan and accompanied by the horses two dogs.
Amy: “Did you buy the groceries and the bread cake?”
Me: “No Amy. I just woke up.”
Amy: “You love Evan and the dogs more than me!” she stomps away
Motherhood. Insert knife and twist.
I only have one child so I will never have to deal with the ‘she’s your favorite’ thing. But I do remember torturing my mother when I was kid. Because my sister was older I always felt like she was the favorite because she got to do more than me. Took me awhile to realize that I wasn’t old enough to do some of those things, yet. Kids. Gotta love ’em.