Little Jacky had made himself quite comfortable on the old folding chair in the corner of the yard. It wasn’t the softest place to sit, but to him, it was his throne. He sat there proudly, looking around, expecting one thing:
Mommy’s arms.
But today, Mom was busy hanging laundry nearby. She glanced at him with a smile, thinking he was fine sitting there for a while. But Jacky had other plans—and other expectations.
He waited.
And waited.
And then…
The whining began.
At first, it was a soft squeak. Then it turned into louder sniffles. Finally, Jacky let out a full-blown scream, his little body stiff with frustration.
“EEEEHHHH!! AHHHH!!”
He arched his back, kicked his feet, and even threw himself sideways on the chair, hanging off the edge like a dramatic movie star. His big round eyes filled with tears as he cried louder, angrier, and more determined.
Why wasn’t Mom picking him up?
He didn’t want toys. He didn’t want snacks.
He wanted Mom.
Right now.
Mom turned, surprised by the stormy tantrum unfolding behind her.
“Oh, Jacky! What’s all this?” she asked gently, walking over.
But Jacky turned his head away, still crying—proving a point.
With a soft laugh, she lifted him up at last.
And just like that, the storm passed.
Jacky nuzzled into her neck, his cries turning into soft sighs.
He got what he wanted—not just her arms, but her attention.
Spoiled? Maybe just a little.
But loved?
Endlessly.
