Battle of the Beyblades

I’m in the dog house. Michael’s mad at me this morning. I took away his Beyblades. Don’t know what Beyblades are? Oh how I envy you…Beyblades are these battling top things that cost an arm and a leg considering what you’re actually getting for your money—a shiny little plastic top at $9 a pop…Yeah…

He begged and pleaded and boo-boo eyed me into buying him a new Beyblade the other day. After two weeks straight of fighting with him, he was actually being good for a change—because he wanted a Beyblade. I’m no fool. Or am I? He stayed on his absolute best behavior to convince me I should get him this new toy, and sucker that I am, I gave in and bought it for him. He wanted a battling stadium, too, but that was another ten dollars and I put my foot down. The kid has stopped doing his chores lately and hasn’t tried to earn any allowance, so I thought if he really wanted this paper thin glorified litter box, he could step it up at home and earn some money to buy it on his own. I’m not Santa Claus, kiddo!! Heh-heh…okay, I am, but he doesn’t need to know that, right?

He pouted for a few seconds at my refusal, then got over it before I made him put the new Beyblade back as well. Once home, he put the top together and battled with his other two Beyblades and was a happy little clam…for a while.

I really ought to know better by now. Michael can be the world’s sweetest angel when he wants something. Then, as soon as he has it, he turns back into Beastie Boy (singular, not to be confused with the band which is Boys, plural…and to think I wanted twins…) So after he played all afternoon with his Beyblades and boredom set in, he set about tormenting Sweet Pea. Slyly. Thinking somehow Mom is an idiot and I wouldn’t notice what he was up to…sitting on the couch opposite me…

Pea, admittedly, was hogging the greater portion of the sofa. And she’s the littlest of our dogs. There is really no need for her to lay claim to two-thirds of the living room’s largest piece of furniture…But she had, and Michael just couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie. He did squish himself to the far end of the couch, with a pillow propped between him and her, a barrier of sorts, because Pea is quite grumpigous these days and will growl and moan her annoyance at anyone disturbing her seat. Doubly so if she’s hoarding a chewie at the time.

Well, boy that Michael is, he’d tug on the afghan a little, just enough to raise a Pea brow and a low grumble. I told him to leave her alone. I may as well have addressed the wall. He kept it up and kept it up until she snapped and I snapped, and he and I were off and yelling. So, I took his Beyblades. I had warned him one condition of keeping his new Beyblade was that he had to continue to be good and not fight with me, or else I’d take it away and if he argued enough, he’d end up paying me back the cost of the top.

He ranted and yelled that it wasn’t fair for me to take all of his Beyblades, I should only take the one. Well, then, he’d still have two to battle, and absolutely no reason to earn his allowance to pay me back the nine dollars I’d shelled out for him. Duh! Now I have them all and if he wants them back, he will indeed have to do his chores and pay me every penny, or he shall have zero Beyblades to battle!

So he woke up this morning and refused to speak to me. However, he promptly got dressed and fixed himself his breakfast and was actually ready for school without so much as a single nagging reminder from me to hurry up or we’d miss the bus! We could be on to something here…