Losing the Battle, Losing the War

For the last twenty minutes of the ride to day-camp today, youngest son insisted that “my knee is broken!”

I calmly, rationally, explained to him that his knee was working when he got into the car, and that nothing had happened since then, and that if his knee were in fact “broken” that he wouldn’t just be sitting there discussing it casually, because it would “hella hurt.”  He seemed skeptical, but willing to hear me out.  At the end of my spiel, though he retorted, quite simply:  “Knee.  Broken.”

In a sudden flash of inspiration, I realized I could just have him test his knee, to prove that it wasn’t broken.  “Give a quick kick”, I said.  “You use your knee to bend your leg,” I said.  “If your knee is broken, you can’t kick anything,” I said.

For the last seventeen minutes of the ride to day-camp today, youngest son insisted that “my knee is broken” while kicking the back of my seat hard enough to bounce my head a bit.

…and thus concludes today’s master seminar in advanced tactical parenting.

 

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