"Three, two, one," I stare at him, eyes narrowing. "This is your last chance."
He spits in my face.
"That's it, I'm getting your father."
"Noooooooooooooooo!" he wails, in the earsplitting tone only small children can muster.
"Then get dressed, right now. We're going to be late for school."
He crosses his arms and turns away from me. "I go bye-bye with Gamma."
"You can go out with Grandma after school."
"No school!" He lays on the couch and covers himself with a blanket. I attempt to put his clothes on,
getting a swift kick to the chest for my efforts.
I hear the thud of footsteps on the stairs and say a silent thank you. "He won't get dressed again."
"Listen to Mommy!" his dad tells him.
"No thank you." I try to get his pants on again, and again he spits at me.
"I'm done," I say, trying to keep my temper in check as I walk to the kitchen to get his snack ready.
The booming voice of his dad reaches the kitchen. "Get dressed right now and say sorry to Mommy or you're getting a spanking!"
"No, no, no!" he screams before dissolving into tears. I know the tears mean he's finally getting dressed. Another morning battle has just barely been won.
This post was written for this week's red writing hood prompt from Write on Edge. The prompt was to write a post starting with "Three, two, one" and keep it under 300 words.