Warning: If your child wants to help you after a huge fight, don't trust him.

Wesley Wars:  Episode Four

Still smarting from this summer's lawn mower strike, the forced decommissioning of his slingshot (aka my bra) and the Hello Kitty Sock wearing incident, the battle continues.

A few highlights of the past few weeks:

Wesley: You are here to ruin my life.
Me:  I'm glad I met my goal.

Wesley:  You are the meanest person in the whole world.
Me:  Thanks.  I've worked hard to become so.

Me:  Feed the dog please.  It's your turn.
Wesley:  You had me so I would have to work ALL the time.
Me:  Well, I need a refund because you, uh, don't work all the time.

Wesley:  You feed me this junk [meatloaf and mashed potatoes] and it's icky.
Me: Choice B is fried liver and onions.

Wesley:  Why can't I stay over at Logan's [his best buddy] all the time?
Me:  Because the police told me I couldn't lose you anymore.

Wesley: You can't force me to go to school.
Me: Well, yes. Yes I can.

This last loving interaction was this week as we frantically was getting ready for school.  Dave was out of town so I made breakfast (which according to Wesley, all the food was again, junk--come up with new adjectives, Boy).  Wesley brought my purse to me and handed me my chapstick.  I throw it on and tell him too look for my eyeliner as I was trying to put on my watch.  He digs around and hands it to me. 

As I start the first swipe, I realize my vengeful son handed me a black permanent Sharpie.  Apparently I looked angry in clownish, one black eye sort of way because he dropped the purse and ran.  I tried to yell at him only to find that the little @$# % head had handed me a glue stick instead of chapstick and my lips were sticking together. 

Okay so Round Four goes to the Ten Year Old Hooligan.