A week spent at home sick with my sick(er) six-year old was quite nice – assuming you could look past the phlegm and vomit and other assorted bodily nastiness.

As we got healthy toward the end of the week, the big guy found himself with a lot of energy to burn off. Unfortunately, he chose the “torment my brother” option. Yesterday, as his mom was relaxing for Mother’s Day, I finally exploded.

“That’s enough,” I shouted. “I’m having to yell at you like every three seconds, and I’m sick of it. Leave your brother alone!” I leaned close. “Did you hear me? Do you understand? Leave him alone.”

He stood his ground, jutting his chin out. “One… Two… Three.  That was three seconds Daddy, and you didn’t yell. It’s not every three seconds.”

“Time Out.” I gritted through clenched teeth.

He smiled and literally skipped off to the time-out spot.