We came home from Teri's tonight around eight, and like usual, Little Man didn't want to come home at all. He's like me in that respect. Bryan is somewhat of a homebody. He likes to be in his own chair with his tv and his remote. I'd rather be out and about, and so would Nathan. So when we pulled into the driveway he started to protest. We went inside and he was still unhappy. He refused to take off his jacket and he kept going over to the balcony door, pointing out at my car and saying, "Bye-bye, bye-bye, bite-a bite-a!" (He had already eaten. The bite-a bite-a was just an excuse to go somewhere.)
When that didn't work he started to cry. He squeezed out a steady stream of big crocodile tears and kept wiping them away with the backs of his hands. He's becoming a professional at looking absolutely heartbroken and miserable, and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. I couldn't help it. He looked so pitiful!
So we went out to get an Encharito.




I think.
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