I was getting ready for work this morning when I noticed the tip of a plastic machine gun poke around the corner of the bathroom door and point directly at me.
So I said, “[Insert full name of my 6-year-old] had better be completely dressed—including socks and shoes—and ready for school—including teeth brushed—before he decides to shoot me with his machine gun, or else…”
I watched as the tip of the machine gun was quickly retracted, then heard the pitter-patter of little bare feet rushing down the hall toward—I assumed—the green tub in the living room where we keep the shoes.
Isn’t it funny how this parenting thing works? One day you can threaten to bag up all of their newest toys to give to the homeless shelter if they don’t help you clean up, and those little bastards will actually go grab a trash bag and place the toys inside because dammit, they want to try their hands at this stubborn thing, too.
Another day, you can give an empty threat—I mean, I hadn’t even finished the damned sentence because I didn’t know what the “or else” would even entail—and they’ll be totally compliant, ready to answer to your every parental wish and desire.
Confusing little shits, aren’t they?
Gotta love ‘em.