More examples, if any were needed, of the Dickensian harshness of my children's lives, and the callous cruelty with which I scoff at their suffering.
Sorry, Kid (4-year-old edition)
I know, it is cold, isn't it? But if you insist upon rolling your pant legs up to your thighs, you will continue to be cold. Sorry, kid.
If you have a treat, say, a dish of ice cream, or cookies, and you eat 80% of it, and then the thought of another, and better treat occurs to you, you don't get to tell me that you don't want the first treat anymore. Because you've already eaten it. That ship has sailed. Sorry, kid.
Yes, you do have to wash your hands EVVY TIME! Sorry, kid.
Sorry, Kid (7-year-old edition):
If you ask what we're having for dinner, and I tell you, and then you respond with the follow-up question "well, what am I having?", the answer will always be "the same thing that the rest of us are having." Sorry, kid. (and bon appetit).
Sorry, Kid (all ages)
It does hurt to stomp on a Lego piece in your bare feet, doesn't it? That is why they shouldn't be on the floor. Sorry, kid.