The Boy is obsessed with naughtiness. He gives us regular status reports on his behavior. "I'm being good, right?" he asks ten thousand times a day. "I didn't throw any fits!" he proclaims, usually right after throwing one. Proud as he is of these accomplishments, he is even more fascinated with being bad.
Yesterday when I came home, I was greeted with his excited "I was very naughty!". Husband, in the kitchen mopping up milk The Boy had deliberately knocked out of his hand, confirmed the story. The boy seemed quite enthused by the magnitude of his naughtiness.
When he playes with his plastic bugs, he pretends the giant ant is biting me. "Don't bite me, Ant!" I say sternly. "That's very naughty."
"Send him to the naughty corner!" The Boy squeals in delight, then runs to place the remorseful ant in the hallway.
When we were at the Livestock show, he had a minor meltdown before lunch and threw himself on the pavement. I picked him up and carried him to the table. Later that afternoon, as we were walking back to the parking lot, he suddenly confessed, "I'm being naughty."
"You are?" I asked, wondering what he could be doing, since he was walking along beside me, holding my hand.
"I'm stepping on your feet" he said, then looked at me slyly. "I'm stepping on your feet and being naughty, so you have to pick me up and carry me."