So I throw difficult child 3 out of bed. It's 2pm in the afternoon. I don't care that he stays up until 5 or 6 am because he likes the house when it's quiet and everyone else is sleeping. I simply don't care. There are things we need to do...time to get your butt out of bed, kiddo. I literally had to yank his covers hard enough to roll him out of the bed to get him up. He looks at me, with this evil, grumpy, half-asleep look and simply says: "Evil mother." He's trying so hard to play off the "I'm mad and going to say something ugly to you" bit...but he just doesn't have enough meaness in him. I can't help but laugh at his attempts. All I can do is look at him and laugh. Really? Evil mother. That's the best he can do? That's all you got, kid? After nearly 22 years as a mom, 18 of those drenched in difficult child issues, "evil mother" is what? It's like poking a giant with a toothpick and expecting it to have the effect of a sword. I just laugh. "I really don't like you, ya know." He says to me. Oh, I'm so hurt. lol. Please. I've gone toe-to-toe with a 1200lb horse, YOUR SISTER, and YOUR BROTHER, all at the same time. You, oh pipsqueak misbehaver, do not even register on my mom radar yet. You need MUCH bigger guns than "evil mother" and "I really don't like you." Poor kid. There's absolutely no hope that he'll ever scrape up enough gfgness to get me riled, even a little bit.