For the last week and a half, Henry and I have been at war. He has screamed, grumped, and clung continuously. He has followed me around, insisting on being held in a blanket taco and entertained by his personal prisoner.
I called my sister, at my wits end. When I asked her if her children ever went through a stage like this, she said, "No, my children don't scream as much as yours do." Awesome. She asked if he was teething, which hadn't occurred to me. I looked. Yes, he was teething. And she also made a suggestion that I buy some toy cars for the poor lad. "He always has a car in his hand at my house and he is always happy there."
What?! A toy car? You mean he is tired of playing with Grace's oversized fluffy pink unicorn and wants something to get a little testosterone flowing? This was a revelation for me. I have never bought any toys for Henry, because we already have toys for Grace. Why would we need to buy more toys?
I raced out the next morning and procured a small toy gas station with three cars, including the two pictured above. And Henry played contentedly with them for the rest of the day yesterday, occasionally accosting me to hold them up and say, "Car! Car!"
Moral of the story: Don't go to war with me, little children. I have the Allies on my side.
PS. Thanks to all of our real Veterans today. I love my freedom, and appreciate the sacrifices.