Don't Quote Me On That

It's late. I can't sleep. So I'm gonna blog. Lucky you.

(I reserve the right to delete this post once I get some rest.)

Sometimes I have to watch what I say around the kids. It's not like I swear like a drunken sailor but it's the phrases, sometimes the seemingly innocent ones that the kids pick up on. Take this evening for example...

I took the kids out because I was feeling a little cabin fever from getting over a cold. Perhaps staying indoors so long had deluded me into thinking that this was a good idea. We were at a local bookstore. Boo found a joke book (See? Total lapse of judgement) and Baby found a flip-book. The Boy couldn't find anything he liked. There wasn't anything Lego. Or Star Wars. Or Lego Star Wars. So I let him get a bag of chocolate covered pretzels instead. As I swiped my credit card, I noticed that half of the pretzels were dipped in white chocolate. Suppressing a shudder (and perhaps a little bile in my throat), I signed the receipt and we were off.

Once the Boy had a couple of his treats, he was all smiles and beneficence. So he offered me one. A white chocolate pretzel. After I stopped foaming at the mouth, I then had to explain several of the words I'd used, such as "abomination" and "blasphemy." Care to place any bets on how quickly those little gems are going to stop popping up in conversation? Maybe they'll get bonus vocabulary points.

While the Boy acquired his passion for chocolate (however impure it might be) from me, he also got my temper. Just a little.

The Boy, like most boys his age, likes to build forts out of couch cushions and sheets. I usually don't mind as long as he abides by a my rules, like don't attempt to take the cushions I am currently seated on and he has to allow all siblings to enter. Which means Baby gets to come in.

Baby is not exactly gentle. Nor is she careful. And she doesn't pays attention to structural support. The fort fell down. A lot. Finally, the Boy let his frustration get to him.

"Baby!" he shouted. "You are gonna be the death of me!"

Hrmm. I wonder where he got that little quote? Why is it that he can't remember what I asked him to do two minutes ago, but he'll remember what I muttered under my breath last month? Maybe I ought to change my strategy. Starting tomorrow, I'll start mumbling when I want him to do something. Hey, asking nicely doesn't get me anywhere. Maybe my passive-aggressive grumblings will be the thing that gets him to clean his room. It's either that or using the Force.