This morning started with a prolonged, intricate and intense conversation about how to spell water. Little bear is insistent that it is wat-ter, watter. As he doesn't pronounce it watter I have no idea about where that comes from. I usually let his odder ideas slide (life is far, far too short) but I am trying to keep him on some sort of track and spelling is either right or wrong.
Little bear stuck to his guns in the face of the authority of mum and a look in a dictionary. I turned it over to the majestic and final judgement of his teacher, who is very patient.
The water debate was an intermission. Last night OH decided that he was going to take a stand. Little bear had been passed on some gorgeous, nearly new wellingtons by darling father's friend. They are about four sizes to big for him, but he is wearing them. He is wearing them coming in, he is wearing them going out, he is wearing them standing up, he is wearing them sitting down. OH said firmly that he was not wearing them upstairs.
Of course I backed OH up, and OH is right, but it is not that long ago little bear slept in his wellingtons, and it is perhaps not a battle I would have picked. But I unhesitatingly backed OH because little bear needs to understand that sometimes 'no' just means 'no' and is not a prelude to negotiation. Little bear was incandescent, which proves that we need to be saying 'no' more often. He told me very firmly that he didn't love me and wouldn't love me ever again until December when he could wear his boots upstairs. I just smiled, said 'Okay, that's fine, I still love you and you are not wearing those boots upstairs.' It took us ages to get him up there. The first thing that he did when he came down was put the dratted things on. He went to school in them, but changed into shoes. He tucked the wellingtons under the shelf beneath the coats. I am wondering if I would be a bad mummy if I didn't remind him at the end of the day?
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