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The art of the compromise

Submitted by on Sunday, 27 July 2008 No Comment

“You talk and talk and talk, wondering if any of it is sticking between those cute little ears.

Then one day you can practically hear a choir of heavenly angels singing.

Yes! He’s been listening! Yes! He gets it.

Big Guy has had a burr up his butt lately about being called “”baby.”" It’s an occasionally recurring theme that’s flared again since he became Big Kindergarten Guy. It particularly galls him when I do it in front of his two new best buds. “”Don’t say that!”" he’ll hiss-whine. But then he’ll tug my hand toward his classroom, leave and immediately return for more kisses and hugs. That’s when I know I have a few more good years of “”baby”" left.

Tonight, though, he decided it was going to irritate him.

We were watching a “”Wow Wow Wubbzy”" episode where Wubbzy dresses up as a bird and a bunch of chicks follow him. I’m not sure why — I tune these things out after a few minutes. It inspired me, though, to hug the guys and ask “”where are my baby birds.”"

Big Guy turned to me with his best “”I’m really 40″” expression and said, “”Look, we need to talk about this.”"

Oh, boy.

“”Let’s do a ‘copromise.’ You get a little of what you want and I get a little of what I want. You can call me ‘baby’ sometimes, but then you have to call me ‘big boy.’ OK?”"

I reigned in my grin so it covered only half my face. All these weeks when I thought he’d been too busy whining and screaming, he’d heard me all along. And now, it appeared, he was ready to accept the philosophy.

“”Deal,”" I said, reaching out to shake his hand.

“”We have to pinky shake, too, to make it a real deal,”" he replied solemnly.

How could I refuse? After all, it was a little of what I wanted and a little of what he wanted.

Copyright 2008 Debra Legg. All rights reserved. ”

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