And sometimes on those days, I get frustrated with him. And sometimes on those days I lose my temper. I am angry that he is short-sighted and impatient and fiery. I become basically intolerant of his six-year-old-boyness.
But sometimes on the worse day ever, I suggest we have a Just Dance Competition, complete with costumes and he comes flying down the stairs as Bathorse. And for a few short moments I am convinced that I am a genius, the best mom ever.
And then a few rounds in, he is back to being bored. And I am backed to being frustrated.
Gone are my delusions of being mother-of-the-year. But at least Arlo liked it.