Cold Turkey

Michael has sent me to Cincinnati to spend a long weekend with my sister and brother-in-law.  I have no kids, no responsibilities, and am eating an extraordinary amount of ice cream and "foodie" food.  Oh, and I get to be with Karen and Karl, and a particularly sweet cat named Walter.  I haven't made a single meal for anyone, haven't dealt with anyone's poop but my own, and at one point sat on the same couch for three hours straight.

"I'm giving you something else this weekend," Michael told me before my departure.  "I'm taking away Charlie's nuks."  I protested that he can't do that, it should be done when we can both tough out the sad and angry screaming. I recalled for him Oliver's hours of sobbing at age 2 1/2, when he handed us his nuks and said, "I'm a big boy."  Then he proceeded to wail himself to sleep, and Michael and I ended up in tears as well.

"But this time, we have a basement," Michael countered.

"You have another kid that sleeps upstairs," I countered back.  He explained to me that he had it all planned out; he and Oliver would be having a slumber party in the basement.

This was posted on Facebook a few hours ago. At least two of them in that household are smiling.  And from where I'm reclining...I am too.

Good luck sweet Charlie...