We’ll always have Paris. Well-licked, apparently, but still…Paris.
Caleb is in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. I reminded him to wash his face and hands.
“I will brush my teeth and that’s it.”
“You need to wash your face and hands,” I say (note: I am not yelling. Yay for me).
“I am not washing my hands.”
“I thought you said you’d get ready for bed tonight without whining,” says not-yelling me.
“I am not whining. I am arguing.”
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