My name is not Solomon

I remember when Thursday night = start of the weekend, at least unofficially.  Not anymore.  I was out after dark, sure, and I had a guy in my car.  I was taking him back to my place, planning on getting his clothes off and getting him into bed.

Reality check:  he's my two-year-old son.  Who's crying.  And his sister is also crying.  They are waging WWIII over a very small but very soft and pretty white lap blanket.  Each one has brought their A game.  She's sobbing passionately and making dramatic pronouncements about never getting what she wants.  He is very righteously playing the "I had it first card" and politely wondering what sister's problem is.  Technically, he did have it first, but when she requested it and I offered a trade for a larger blanket, he pitched his own back-arching sobbing fit.  I wasn't going to give in just because of that, but she ended up throwing it back at him just to shut him up.  (And she wonders why he always does that.  It's because it works!)  I ended up giving the blanket to him, because he did have it first, and that was the closest thing I had to a legal precedent.

Sigh.  I'm almost afraid to see what TGIF will bring.  Stomach flu and fist fights?  Stay tooned...