Taking my lumps.

During a recent stressful and slightly scary situation, Andrew proved himself to be exceptionally responsible and brave. I spent quite a bit of time debriefing, reassuring, and praising him for the manner in which he handled himself under the circumstances. The praise continued that evening when Glenn got home from work.

Glenn: Good job, Andrew. You're ready to be in charge now.

Andrew (pointing to Glenn and me, without missing a beat): Bed and bed.

Is that what people in charge do? Send people to bed? Around here, I guess so.

Glenn and I were all too happy to oblige. Andrew was not happy that his decree was not having the intended effect, so he continued the disciplinary action.

Andrew went on to proclaim that Glenn would have to go for six weeks without sports.

(This comes on the heels of a week where Andrew himself did indeed have to go for one week without sports. No watching sports on TV. No looking at sports on the internet. No reading about sports in the paper. No talking about sports scores with Dad in the mornings. I think it may have made an impact.)

My punishment?

Six weeks without sweats.

The boy knows his mom.

And boy, do we know who wears the pants around here.

When it comes to sweatpants, apparently not me.