Or rather, we were happy until The Boy discovered he could blow bubbles in his milk or suction the cup to his face or make echoing sounds into it. Then, he was happy and Momma was not.
I admonished: Boy, we don't blow bubbles. Boy, drink from your cup. Boy, you're going to spill, tipping your cup up like that. Boy, you can either drink from your cup or I'm going to take it away. I often made good on that threat, prompting cries of "My milk! I just want my milk, Momma!" I would think the lesson had stuck, only to repeat the whole scene the next night.
But last night, while the husband and I were talking and not completely focused on The Boy, he learned the hard way:
The cup sort of exploded on him. I'm not quite sure which of his tricks caused it. He was completely distraught, and the husband and I laughed so hard I cried.
"That's what happens when you play with your cup, Boy," the husband said between chuckles. "Did you learn your lesson?"
"YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" The Boy wailed.
"No -- get the camera first," I said to the husband, who was reaching for the dish towel.
The milk droplets on his eyelashes needed to be captured for posterity. I wanted proof to show The Boy his parents are being mean for his own damn good, though I know this won't be the last time he learns the hard way. I just hope he can smile like this after those other hard lessons -- or most of them, anyway.