Saturday morning I gave Henry a hair-cut; oh dreaded event!
He hates haircuts.
I hate haircuts.
They always end in tears (his) and frustrated sighs (mine).
But Saturday morning I had a little flash of mom-genius.
"Henry," I appealed, excitedly, "if we can get through the rest of this haircut without any tears or whining, I'll have a water fight with you as soon as we're done." Apparently there was great negotiating power in that conditioned promise.
He held his end of the bargain.
I held mine.
We put the clippers safely inside; he stripped to his birthday suit, (I did not), we invited Lily to join the fun (she did - that girl always wants to be where the action is), we turned the hose on full blast, and we got really, really wet. When we were done, we hung our drippy clothes on the back fence.
It was a soaking good time.