Exhausted, Younger sprawled on the floor, tossing his grammar homework at me, displaying distinct disinterest in the grammar book I attempted to hand him.
“You can just do it for me. Your poor boy is exhausted.”
“I could,” I responded, shoving the book beneath his nose and determinedly pointing towards the lists and explanations on different pages. “But then what would you have learned?”
“I would have learned how to get you to do my work for me.”
Instead, he had a different learning experience.
How to quickly duck a swinging textbook.
Some lessons are harder than others.
Younger has a convenient excuse to visit his grandparents several nights a week — internet.
“I need to use the internet, Mom,” he will tell me.
But it is often an excuse. Because the library has internet.
The library doesn’t have grandma and grandpa. And the library doesn’t spoil him rotten.
The library doesn’t “feed him against his will.”
“I’ll just tell Grandpa I’d like pizza,” he told me one day as we sped along the highway.
“You leave your grandpa alone,” I warned him, shooting him a glance, shaking my head at his mischievous grin. “Younger . . .”
A few minutes after I arrived home from delivering him to his grandparents I received a text —
“I swear on my life, first thing he said when he came in was, ‘younger, you want to order a pizza.’ ”
Yeah, he’s fed against his will.
These grandparents are evil, evil folk.
Today, I thought I would share an old story from 2005 . . .
In my attempts last summer to prepare Younger for kindergarten, I tried to discourage certain behaviors. The last in a long list was whining. I mean, the child had forgotten that “whatever you want” was not the response to expect to his every request.
So, finally, after several attempts to derail his screeching, I told him, “Younger, you are not going to be able to whine like that in kindergarten.”
“Mo-om.” He rolled his eyes. “You know, if you’re gonna tell me everything about kindergarten, there ain’t gonna be much use in me going.”
. . . and he still doesn’t see much use in him going . . .
Early yesterday morning, I had a minor medical screening that required anesthesia, and I was told I could drive this morning, depending on how I felt. So, this morning, as Younger and I climbed into the car, I suggested he help me to pay attention, just in case effects were still lingering unrecognized.
“Those are cows,” he told me slowly, pointing to a neighboring field as we pulled onto the highway.
“I meant in the general sense of the road.”
“Just before us, the road takes a gentle curve to the left.”
My jaw tightened.
“We are meeting a car,” he enunciated carefully. “Just stay in the right lane.”
“Do you want to drive?” I challenged.
“No.” But then he admitted in a happy tone, “I want to irritate you.”
Younger now knows . . .
Honesty is not always the best policy.