Year 1, Day 165

I can't tolerate food throwing. I have equal frustration when my son spits out medicine.  I'm not sure how to be a better mother in these instances. It burns me to the core - a fiery core. I am a D- mother tonight, and not ashamed to admit it. I am also at my own mother's house, so from this point on, I am relenting and allowing "Nana" to fight the battles for me this evening. She is doing well. The battle diffused and mission accomplished, Jackson has risen his white flag in surrender. I hear Nana brushing his teeth as though it was comic act . . .  and he is completely obliging and enjoying himself.  I hear her changing his diaper, and he is laying there . . . still and calm as a summer day.  Oh do I forsee many moments, such as this, when mom can't get her son to do a darn thing, and anyone else living on this green earth can get him to concede in an instant. It's okay - I'll have a grandchild someday.