Summer hysteria has stricken my household. It seems that everything that was learned throughout the school year has magically disappeared into the great beyond. Manners, what are those?
We have far too many conversations centering around burps, farts and other bodily functions that seem to fascinate my five year old. Sharing is apparently only something done in the classroom because it certainly has lost all meaning when it comes to toys here at home.
I try to be patient. I use that sing-song voice and cheetah grin while issuing my parental reminders:
“Sweetheart, remember your inside voice?”
“Kaleb, the floor is not a trash can.”
“Is there carpet in your bedroom? I can’t see any.”
“No honey, we do not carry the babies like luggage.”
“You didn’t ‘find’ money if it came out of mommy’s purse.”
“Seriously, Kaleb, you have to wear clothes.”
“Keep your hands off of Brooklyn, keep your feet off … put your elbows away!”
“Do we lick faces? You are not a dog. You are five, stop it.”
“Do not fart on your brother.”
Things that should never be said aloud are spewing from my mouth on a regular basis.
I’m not certain if the heat just brings on a sun-induced mania in these children, or if I won some twisted lottery.
Honestly, I know I was far from a perfect child. But, my summers were so busy with playing outside that I was often genuinely too exhausted to put up much attitude. Not to mention, that inborn fear of parental wrath seems to have skipped a generation around here.
I should feel grateful that the two little ones definitely would qualify for an ESL course because their twin-speak is completely foreign to me. They jabber constantly. Their grunts, whines and gibberish are actually very effective because they have mastered the correct tonality for their communication. The words just haven’t come yet.
Have you ever been insulted by a 16 month old in a language that is not your own? It stings. The facial expression so clearly indicate dissatisfaction.
I think it’s about time that we have a good solid discussion about R-E-S-P-E-C-T. The fact that Aidan and Brooklyn clamor across my laptop like a herd of walruses while I try to finish this column is not a good indicator of success for my plan to tame the beasts this summer.
