Pitiful, originally uploaded by cheryl.
You have no idea how often we hear about that in our house these days. I'm not sure where Connor picked the phrase up from, but it's one of his new favorites.
Life isn't fair. That's not fair. It isn't fair. Or some other variation, but you get the idea.
Yesterday in the snow, wanting to throw that large chunk of ice, I was told how unfair life was that he couldn't throw it at me or his brothers. Yes, indeed. Keep in mind that while we tried several times to make a snowman, the snow was too fine to pack. And yet there he held this giant clump of hard ice covered on the outside with snow, wanting to throw at someone.
Today, Connor wanted to play video games. Never mind that his brother asked first and is just not settling down to a game. Never mind that he never thinks to ask first, that he only wants to play after his brother has made the request. When you tell him he's going to have to wait for his turn, well you can guess what he tells you.
This weekend is a long weekend off from school (maybe really long if this stupid snow doesn't melt), but it's at least supposed to be a three-day weekend. Connor knows this. And do you want to know his first question once he spies the three days off on the calendar?
"Where am I going to go?"
Yes, my have suitcase-will travel child really asks us this all the time. And he naturally assumed he was going somewhere. The beach. The mountains. The lake. Somewhere. Anywhere but home. What kind of people are we, anyway?
Life is not fair.
Connor and his brothers get some candy for an afternoon snack. Everyone gets the exact same amount - two pieces of Starburst. Connor wants more. They all probably do, but that's all they're getting. He asks for more. He even asks nicely (and that's been an issue we've been working lately - none of this "I want" or just reaching out and taking). But we haven't had dinner, which I explain as I refuse.
That's not fair.
This morning at breakfast, we had cinnamon rolls. There are eight in the container. There were four of us (Daddy was at fire school). That meant everyone got to have two.
It's not fair.
No, of course not. Everyone needs at least three or four cinnamon rolls just to himself. Sawyer certainly would have eaten more. Xander probably would have passed. But really? Two whole cinnamon rolls, after snacking on dry cereal and a cup of milk, with lunch only an hour or two away. Really?
Life is not fair.
It's tough to be six, let me tell you.