She was sitting on the couch eating breakfast and watching TV. Her hair was pulled back in one direction and pulled forward in another. The tangles were apparent from fifty paces.

"I have to comb it," I said with a heavy sigh. I walked to the bathroom to get the detangling spray and a brush. "Just watch television and I'll try not to pull."

A few minutes later her hair is smoother in their clips and bands.

My husband tells her she's looks pretty as he helps her on with her backpack. The bus is coming soon.

"Mom," she says in reply.

"I combed it," I say in response to his inquisitive look. "I practiced parenting today."

"Hey, I didn't say anything," he protested as if I'd been more defensive than defeatist.

They scoot out the door as I'm forcing shoes over The Champ's stocking feet. "It is cold outside," I tell him, "you have to wear a coat or a fleece." I know he wants neither.

I hold him on my lap as I pull the fleece over his head. He is kicking and screaming as I gently put his arms into the sleeves. This win doesn't seem to count.

He's still yelling as I gather our things and walk behind him to the bus stop.

"Why is he so mad," my husband asked as we made our way to watch the spectacle of Ittybit going off to school.

"I made him wear a sweater ... looks like I'm batting two-for-two in the parenting exhibition game today."