Every now and then, an irrational sense of entitlement shows itself in Max. You expect it in little kids: I want it, and I want it now. A tantrum erupts when you take away a toy (or their tenth Oreo, or a bottle of pills). How dare you take away what is rightfully theirs? But in big kids, that over-entitlement is weird.
Max (in front of the TV): Can I have some water?
Me: Help yourself.
Max: You’re closer.
Me: Not by much.
Max: Yes, you are.
Me: You’re the one who wants it.
Max: Can’t you just get me some water?
Me: You have arms and legs, use them.
Max: But you’re right there!
Max: Why do you make me do everything?
Me: Why don’t you fold this laundry I’m folding?
(end of conversation)
Really?? As if I live to serve him!?
But this morning, Max and his friend woke up early and made me breakfast in bed for no other reason than to be nice—or to amuse themselves—it wasn’t my birthday or Mother’s Day. They came into the bedroom with a bowl of cereal, a glass of milk, and a spoon, using a cookie sheet as a tray. They placed it on my bedside table and said I didn’t have to get up. Very sweet, no? Guess what I did? I asked them if they wanted eggs for breakfast and then immediately got out of bed to make scrambled eggs without touching my cereal. Hmmm… why would he ever demand that I get him water?