There's no "I" in Oliver.

Maybe I should have named him Oliver, then, instead of Olivier. Maybe that extra "i" really screwed him up. My kid has issues!!

Being half-Brazilian, my children have soccer in their blood. Olivier has been wanting to play for a long time now, and we finally got him into a rookie league this spring. But he expects the whole world to revolve around him. He's all smiles and rainbows when the kids are practicing, each with his own ball, but then when the game starts and a bunch of kids are fighting over the same ball, he freezes up and stands there sulking in the middle of the field. He says, "They won't let me score a goal!" No shit, Sherlock. (No, I do not say that to him. At least not to his face.)

He's a special little person, to put it nicely. He's a character, but his big emotions can cause problems. Terrible twos? Pshaw! Three was baaaaaaaaaad, and four's not much better.

At least he's cute.

I have to admit that he comes by it honestly. I had a reputation as a little kid as being rather difficult, I guess. They called me the Tyrant. I sometimes overreact...sometimes...

This is me in Paris, pouting because my camera wasn't working. Except it obviously was working, because this picture was taken with my camera.

This is me in Paris, pouting because...well, you've heard that story already. Yup. Same exact situation.

And just for fun, two of the best Paris pictures ever taken:

We went up in the Eiffel Tower, and just as we got to the front of the line to buy our tickets, they closed the uppermost level. Bastards!! This is how I felt. And then...

We bought metro passes, which was marvelous. The Paris Metro is a dream. But it hated me, for some reason. It would never let me through. Only me. Everyone else would breeze through, and I'd get the wind knocked out of me when it wouldn't open for me. I started jumping turnstiles. I hold a grudge.

My son might get his attitude from me.