I regret to announce that my son is requesting new parents.
Again.
I don't know if we should take out an a classified ad, post fliers around the neighborhood, or just advertise his request on Facebook so that hopefully he can get an upgrade to a newer, younger, and (hopefully for him) a more lenient set of parental units.
Everything was business as usual until I announced it was bedtime. The conversation went something like this:
Mean Mom: "Brandon, it's time for you to get ready for bed, sweetie"
Son: "No! I get to make choices too, and I don't want to."
Mean Mom: "Yes, you do get to make choices about many things, but not about what time you go to bed, so scoot."
Son: "Fine! That's it! Tomorrow I'm leaving this house for good."
Mean Mom: "Where do you plan to go?"
Son: "I don't know. I'm moving out to go live with some new parents!"
Mean Mom: "You're going to get new parents? Maybe we should give them a call now so they'll know you're coming."
Son: You don't even know their phone number! <<arms folded across chest>>
Mean Mom: "Good night." <<smiling to self>>
Son: "GOOD NIGHT!"
Wow. Mr. Crabby Pants. I think it's time for Spring Break, and perhaps a blood sugar check.
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