Happy 2009? Like, whatever. Dad.
We recently adopted a zero-tolerance approach to Sam's habit of mithering, whining and occasionally flapping at us when he doesn't get what he wants, and with some success.
I say "some" success - it's a pyrrhic victory, big time.
Gone overnight are the hallmarks of the so-called "terrible two"; now witness the studied savvy of the urbane toddle-ager:
Me: OK, matey, we're going somewhere nice...
Sam, hopefully: Are there steam trains / fire engines / cakes / angel babies [don't ask] there?
Me, wearily: No Sam, I really doubt that.
Sam, pauses, considers screaming "but I waaaaant one!" Instead, deploys the verbal musicality that unlocks old ladies' sweetie jars: Hmmm. We'll see shall we - when we get there? I suppose you never know. Maybe later, eh? And mummy says yes too. And then at bed time we can have FIVE stories!
Me, speechless: O: Um...
Cue panic. How the devil am I going to outmaneouvre this slick operator when he's a sagely six?
Lesson learned, too late: Deploy only the simplest language when dealing with the Pampered proletariat - do NOT give them the tools to outfox you comprehensively before they are out of nappies!
1 comment:
It's not even half-time, but it's game over. You're playing to salvage some pride now.
Post a Comment