In the course of my childhood, I was well known for being a smart-ass know-it-all. I sassed my mom like it was going out of style, and I am sure she probably wanted to pull a Homer Simpson and strangle me. Instead, she would just lecture me to no end, with her empty promise that one day, I would apologize to her for my disrespectful ways. Why? Because my future children would deal me a good dose of my own medicine, and I’d finally realize what it’s like to have a smart-ass know-it-all child.
Well, that dang woman has some good voodoo going on, because her prophecy has come to pass.
Meet my oldest…the light of my heart…my beautiful firstborn…my pride and joy…
That is, until he hit 8 years-old. Oooooh, boy….
This poor kid must have gotten a double-dose of the know-it-all gene from both me and his dad. Add to that a mind like a steel trap and a memory like an elephant, and this child gives me a run for my money. He can remember EVERYTHING I say, with total clarity, and has his dad’s gift for logic to the point that he can nearly argue me in circles.
I probably don’t help the situation with my somewhat inconsistent approach to rule enforcement, and I definitely need to come up with a response better than, “because I said so.”
I also can’t really complain too much, because he reserves this behavior for me alone…all his teachers claim he is a perfect angel.
I keep reminding myself of that, but at the same time, I’d still appreciate a little voodoo help in taking my mom’s curse off of me.