it's the journey, not the destination

wile and i were having one of our battles about the stairs. [i know i think i said that i had won the stair war, but i was only fooling myself.] he asked me to pick him up and carry him up the stairs. i said no. he cried and wailed. i walked upstairs and left him there, screaming and carrying on. i did some dishes and put some food away. he screamed. stephen came by and tried to calm him down, no dice. more screaming.

finally i went downstairs and talked him down a little bit. then i told him that i wasn't going to pick him up but that he needed to come upstairs, and i took him by the hand and "helped" him "walk" up the stairs. his feet were technically making contact with the steps, but it wasn't walking. when we finally got to the top, i led him in to the kitchen and tried to distract him with talk of snacks and cat-feeding.

i turned away from him for a second, and when i turned back he had run out of the kitchen and back into the hallway, where he proceeded to walk back down the stairs, crying and yelling for "mama pick wile up! carry up stairs!"

why yes, we are screwed, thank you for noticing.





ps - this is what my leg looks like now, post-mudslide: