My son is the greatest delayer of all time.
He is also listening-challenged.
If you want him to be ready for something -- say, school -- you literally have to start nagging a whole hour in advance, because he just won't listen to you. And who likes to nag, anyway? Not me. It's a pain. He won't listen until you are screaming (or in this case, Daddy is screaming), and then he acts so completely shocked that you are screaming and says in his best defensive voice "I know, I know, okay?" or my personal favorite "I love you, Mom."
Today, after having both of us after him, he started slowly... oh so slowly... putting on his socks, which we had told him repeatedly was something he must do. I was standing in the kitchen watching him. The Double B came in and got after him. When the Double B turned away, K.J. pulled a big fat mimicking face at his father's back. That's right, folks. He sassed. He sassed big time. I was staring at him with great big eyes over the counter, and then he saw me, smiled his most charming smile and said "Oops... I love you, Mommy."
And the moment came to me as to why we have had such a difficult time figuring out exactly how to parent this kid lately. He is no longer a toddler. In fact, he's no longer a little kid. He's a punk kid!!! And we don't quite have punk kid knowledge yet. We should order the book.
You would think that it would come easy, being such a punk kid myself. In fact, I was the best sasser ever. Although, whenever I sassed it was quickly followed with a threat of death. And that seemed to work for my parents and I.
Maybe that's all I need to do.
"You makin' faces at your Dad, little sass-face? YOU MAKIN' FACES AT YO DAD, LIL' SAS-FACE?!!"
And then look really, really menacing, which I admit, I can be pretty good at.
I don't get it.
I really don't.