On Saturday, I informed the boys that we could put it off no longer. The nails just had to be cut. No more postponing the inevitable. I started with Big and did his fingernails with a minimum of fuss. When I got to the toenails, however, it was a completely different story.
Cutting his toenails entailed pinning him down with my forearm (Sorry about the elbow to the groin, Big. My bad.) while I held his feet one by one in a death grip. All the while he screamed stuff like, "Not the toes!" and "Ow!" and "Let me go, you're hurting me!". Bud stood and watched the whole thing, wide-eyed and worried.
When Big's turn was over I told Bud his turn was up. He looked at me rather nervously, twisting his fingers a bit, and announced, "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't bring my feet this time."
Oh, how my kids make me laugh. Luckily, we were able to locate Bud's feet and get the job done. The boys agreed after all was done, like they always do, that it really hadn't been that bad after all. Too bad they won't remember that when next time rolls around.