I love my child. I do. My love for him far surpasses the hatred he has for writing. And he has a deep, dark hatred for writing.
Bizarre irony, don't you think, considering his mother has a desperate, twisted love for writing?
He's in second grade, now. In kindergarten, I'd get calls from the teacher saying my son gets distracted during writing practice, and doesn't get his work done. We chalked it up to his age.
And the fact that he's a boy. The maturity thing, you know: boys mature slower than girls, blahblahblah.