In case you’re wondering, it’s REALLY easy to try to be clever and creative with my 3-year-old in the room. So seriously, abandon all high expectations for this post now. I think it will be best for everyone that way.
Let me just pull you into my world for a few minutes…
[Picture me sitting in my living room with my laptop and monitor I like to refer to as the “conjoined twins.” I’m reading emails and checking out a few other blogs for inspiration as I try to get the creative juices flowing. Boy #3 is playing castle in the room, which really just means he puts a knight, ogre, or even a penguin–no matter–on top of the castle and then knocks it off. Again. And again. All while making “grr” and “roooarrrppphhh” noises.]
Boy #3: Mom, what comes after tres?
Boy #3: Mom, what comes after cuatro?
Boy #3: Mom, what comes after cinco?
Boy #3: Mom, what comes after seis?
I’m sure you can guess the rest…This continued for awhile, with me attempting to read, type, and speak bilingually simultaneously.
Boy #3: What’s “ret”?
Boy #3: What’s ret?
Boy #3: No. RET!
Boy #3: No–ret!
Me: Honey, I don’t know what you’re saying.
Boy #3: Ret!
Boy #3: Yes–ret!
Boy #3: Oh.
Seriously, what was that about? I swear he does this on purpose. I mean, he can speak two languages, for crying out loud–you can’t tell me he doesn’t know that “ret” isn’t a word! And of course I get no contextual explanation for this two-minute exchange.
Me: *sigh* Okay, Mommy’s going to get a couple things done, okay?
Boy #3: Okay.
Boy #3: MOOOMMMMY, GET ME SOME CHOCOLATE MILK, I SAID! NOW!
Me: Excuse me, you don’t talk to Mommy like that. I’ll get you some milk in a minute.
Boy #3: NO, NOW!!! I SAID I WANT IT NOW!!!
Now this is where a GOOD mom would tell you that she calmly waited out the crying, whining, and screaming to teach him that he was not the boss and didn’t get to make demands to Mommy…You can go ahead and guess what my response was…So after enjoying the 30 seconds of silence that occurred while he drank his chocolate milk, (well, if you don’t count that sound of Barney and his troupe of annoying, overexaggerated kids singing on the TV), I was startled from my creative trance by the sound of cereal spilling and rolling all over the floor.
Boy #3: Mommy, I spilled a “wittle bit of Weeseth Puffth on the fwoor!”
At that moment, I had a flashback of yesterday, when I came home from work to find Boy #3 standing in a manmade mountain of Special K Fruit & Yogurt (MY cereal, of course).
Me: Okay. I’ll clean it up in a minute.
Boy #3: (Having returned to his castle) Mom, this monkey doesn’t have a tail! MONKEYS ARE SUPPOSED TO HAVE TAILS!
Me: (Type. Type. Type.)
Boy #3: Mom, are you having a baby?
This I could not ignore.
Me: No, I’m not.
Boy #3: Then why did you get fat?
Me: I don’t know, honey. I guess I thought it would be fun.
Boy #3: Oh.
Boy #3: I wuv you, Mom.
Me: I love you too.