Making a Dent

I learned something new today.  Well, it wasn't that I exactly learned it per say or that it was even new but I became aware of something already in existence.  As much as the little buggers try to pretend or explain away that I, as their parent is making any sense in their already "I-have-it-all-together-so-leave-it-alone-mom"attitudes, I'm making a dent.

Oh yes!  The repetitive list of the "do's" and "don't's" in my house that makes the never ending song look like a haiku is finally starting to take affect.  How, might you ask have I come to this conclusion?  By what display of affection or even, dare I say it, self-correction has occurred in you peripheral view whilst parenting?

None.  Of course, it wasn't displayed in a form of "I should probably listen to my mother and not teeter on the back of the couch as if I am an olympian on the balance beam about to clench the gold medal for the USA" because I will probably land myself in the ER. (Damn the olympics)  Oh no!  It was not something they did...

kinda like this... but on my furniture.

It was something I did...  typical.

So my hubby comes home from a long day at work and we make small talk while the sirens from the Odyssey let loose in my kitchen.  Needless to say it was futile for any form of communication.  So while my hubby takes the male into the playroom to dampen the sound of screaming I make a move to check Facebook on my computer.  Apparently, this was of distaste to my husband because when I asked him why he doesn't ever wanna hang out with me, in jest might I add, he states and I quote:

Ugh!  More men coming to goggle at us.
Can't a girl sunbath naked in peace?
Make their boat crash.  That'll teach them!

"oh, now you want me to hang out with you?  What happened?  Did you finally look up from your Facebook and notice I was gone?"

Ew.

Well, I decide that this is considered disrespecting mommy and in playful banter I race over to his side and lift his leg to "spank his bum" as we both dissolve into fits of giggles.  I head back to the kitchen to make sure my mac&cheese isn't boiling over and before I know it my 20 month old (the boy) comes running into the kitchen.

"No mommy, no hitting.  Gentle.  Gentle."  as he mimics petting the air softly.

So cute!  But he wasn't done.  Oh no.  What happens when we hit?  We have to go say we're sorry.  So he took me by the hand and leaded me back to the playroom where daddy was and he says again.  "No mommy, no hitting!"

So I had to apologize for my actions and then give daddy a hug to make sure he wasn't hurt.  I don't know about him but my pride was feeling it a little bit there.

Really?  From this kid?  He makes it his job to
discover new ways of making toys into weapons.

Alas, I managed to take away from this whole experience that I am making a dent in their seemingly relentless attempt to send me to the looney bin.  That one day they won't need me there to correct them and that maybe just maybe they understand the importance of sticking together and treating each other with kindness and respect.  To fight hate with love.  And to always be willing to say I'm sorry.


Or they just like to be the dictator once in a while.

Antenella