We used to joke that MJ had not yet surpassed our dog in terms of maturity, because Molson is a perpetual two-year-old. Unfortunately, those days are over.
Now that she has one of those childproof doorknob covers on the inside of her bedroom (see here if you don't know why), her sense of injustice regarding constraints is particularly acute -- and loud. The other morning, we were serenaded by little fists beating on her bedroom door and screaming to be let free. Because I am not a nice person when rudely awakened, Randy and his almost infinite patience usually handles these situations. So off he went, while I tried in vain to go back to sleep.
I could hear muffled negotiations coming from the other room, so when he returned to our bedroom, I knew he had been defeated.
"What was her problem?" I grumped.
"She says she's 'finished sleeping'," he said.
"Did you tell her that it's not time to get up yet?" I asked, rolling over to look at the clock. Judging by my level of crankiness -- or, as they say in the south, "ugliness" -- I figured it to be about 4 o'clock in the morning.
Unfortnately, it was 7 a.m. Let's just say we don't start our days with the chickens around here.
"I did," he reported. "And she pointed to the light coming in from her window and said, 'It's morning, Daddy. I not sleep anymore.'"
I searched my brain for a comeback to that statement, until I realized her logic was fool-proof. Zoinks! Maybe Noggin really is "like preschool on TV."
Technically, we -- the people the hospital allowed to take this little person home to raise -- are supposed to be setting a good example: showing reason, intelligence, wisdom, etc. But after a few years of being snowed by her parents, MJ is starting to get wise -- and with good reason. Is my bedroom as clean as I expect hers to be? Do I only eat chocolate after I've eaten my dinner (or breakfast or lunch)? Do I ever go outside and run around in the backyard instead of watching "Dancing with the Stars?"(No, but I might Cha Cha in my family room.)
Once they realize that green beans aren't actually candy, little people tend to morph into teachers who tap into our consciences, pulling out strand after strand of guilt until we realize it's time for us to go make the bed, eat better and be a little more productive, too. Yes, I know what you're thinking -- and you're right. Being a grown-up does kind of stink sometimes.
But at least we can still fool the dog. (I think.)
Now that she has one of those childproof doorknob covers on the inside of her bedroom (see here if you don't know why), her sense of injustice regarding constraints is particularly acute -- and loud. The other morning, we were serenaded by little fists beating on her bedroom door and screaming to be let free. Because I am not a nice person when rudely awakened, Randy and his almost infinite patience usually handles these situations. So off he went, while I tried in vain to go back to sleep.
I could hear muffled negotiations coming from the other room, so when he returned to our bedroom, I knew he had been defeated.
"What was her problem?" I grumped.
"She says she's 'finished sleeping'," he said.
"Did you tell her that it's not time to get up yet?" I asked, rolling over to look at the clock. Judging by my level of crankiness -- or, as they say in the south, "ugliness" -- I figured it to be about 4 o'clock in the morning.
Unfortnately, it was 7 a.m. Let's just say we don't start our days with the chickens around here.
"I did," he reported. "And she pointed to the light coming in from her window and said, 'It's morning, Daddy. I not sleep anymore.'"
I searched my brain for a comeback to that statement, until I realized her logic was fool-proof. Zoinks! Maybe Noggin really is "like preschool on TV."
Technically, we -- the people the hospital allowed to take this little person home to raise -- are supposed to be setting a good example: showing reason, intelligence, wisdom, etc. But after a few years of being snowed by her parents, MJ is starting to get wise -- and with good reason. Is my bedroom as clean as I expect hers to be? Do I only eat chocolate after I've eaten my dinner (or breakfast or lunch)? Do I ever go outside and run around in the backyard instead of watching "Dancing with the Stars?"(No, but I might Cha Cha in my family room.)
Once they realize that green beans aren't actually candy, little people tend to morph into teachers who tap into our consciences, pulling out strand after strand of guilt until we realize it's time for us to go make the bed, eat better and be a little more productive, too. Yes, I know what you're thinking -- and you're right. Being a grown-up does kind of stink sometimes.
But at least we can still fool the dog. (I think.)
Di
March 29, 2008 10:39 PM