When I got home from work, I wouldn't immediately join him in going outside. I just had to pee first.
I wouldn't let him knock over the chair George was sitting on, and sent him to time out for attempting it.
After getting sent to time out, then trying to step over the child's gate, he got stuck, and I could not immediately help him, as I was in the middle of chopping raw chicken.
I did not make his favorite dinner (which is any dinner he actually takes a bite of and enjoys, so for all we know, it could have been his favorite dinner, but he never took a bite. Oh, and by the way, it was fettuccine Alfredo with chicken and broccoli...all things he likes).
After dinner, and by dinner, I mean Brock wandering the house crying about how it's not his favorite, I let Matt take George in the car to exchange something a few blocks away with a Craigslist purchaser, when apparently, it was something Brock has "always wanted to do."
There is a statue of a little boy on the railing of one of our backyard neighbor's deck, and according to a very distressed Brock, "he has been sitting there for weeks! Why!?" I didn't have a good explanation.
I wouldn't let him continue to play with the train set he got distracted by as we were putting on shoes for the walk that he had previously begged to go on.
I zipped up his hoodie.
We took a right to walk up the block, instead of a left for our walk today.
I let him ride his scooter. But he fell over and scraped his knee. He complained of his legs hurting for the rest of the night.
I wouldn't take him to the park at 7:30 at night.
I would not spin him around by his arms in a the front yard. For the 17th time.
I wouldn't let him play in or with the hose.
I wouldn't let him tear a page out of a library book.
I wouldn't let him watch an entire movie after playing outside with the neighbors up the street for 45 minutes, when we were already 15 minutes past his bedtime. To which he cried that "this was not a very good day today."
All between the hours of 5:30 and 8:15pm.