My Son Blueberry, Photographs, and the Cannon

My beyond overtired son has informed me that his name is not Cameron. He’s Blueberry now.  He won’t be called Cameron. Only Blueberry.

We’ve had a rough evening. It started out okay – smiles and hugs when I picked him up, then off to the bus to head home. We played on the beach by the Burrard Bridge (stressful for Mamma: dog poop; cigarette butts; garbage), then things deteriorated from there. He’d not noticed my camera at the beach, but on the boat was pushing it. Meltdown.

By the time we got home, Cameron very much needed to go straight to bed. But that’s just not do-able. Supper (oatmeal was all he wanted, and I knew to not push on this one, you gotta pick your battles), bath, and bed was my plan. He had a plan that involved a whole lot of playing. But he was far too tired to /do/ anything, which led to many tears.

Finally, he was snuggled on my lap at 8:45, having changed his mind about tantruming and quieted down enough to nicely ask for me to read Little Bear. He’d been put to bed with the promise that he could do that. A quick read, and I looked at my watch, then announced that the 9 o’clock cannon was about to go boom. All kids must be in bed then, or that’s at least what I tell him. Mistake. “Want to hear it go boom,” he insisted, and snuggled closer. Not that I don’t want to snuggle with him, but after a night like tonight, I was all “ENOUGH ALREADY!” But we snuggled, more or less quietly, for ten minutes. Finally. Boom. Bed.

Think that worked? HA! He’s so tired that even now at quarter to ten he’s still fussing every few minutes.

Oh – for anyone curious, from what I can tell Nimoo Kitty passed this test. No “comments” left anywhere that I have found.

Now, off to tidy up. Dad and Janice arrive while I’m at work tomorrow. I need the place somewhere around midpoint on the scale between OCD and pigsty. Then I might add pictures to the post. Or I might just wait until tomorrow night after D&J go to sleep.


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