Nice, nice mama
Sometimes I have to use my stern mother voice and tell Ezra that he shouldn’t do things, such as throw bowls from the table to the floor during dinner. Â Or throw blocks at me. Or sit on the car. This reprimand tends to make Ezra upset. If he doesn’t start crying because of it, he will look at me with pleading little eyes, and reach out to stroke my arm or back or whatever he can reach, and say “nice, mama, nice!” I guess he feels like I’m not being nice at the time I’m telling him he can’t do things in a serious voice. Even though it’s kind of cute, I must suppress the urge to smile when he does this, so he knows I am being serious.Â