I know I earn very little sympathy when I complain about the boys growing up to be smart-alecks, as I’m pretty sure my parents, tired as they were of my not-nearly-so-clever-as-I-though responses, were rooting for me to have premarital sex and end up with a smart-aleck of my own somewhere around the time I turned 16 because I seriously had it coming.  I suppose my delay in actually bringing such a smart-aleck into the world is offset by the fact that when the day arrived, my smart-aleck special delivery was a two-pack.

As Katie’s mentioned, we are fully into the era of negotiation, and the boys have been taught the meaning of “procrastination” and “distraction” so that they can understand as I explain why I’m about to start screaming.  Last night’s argument was over how many cars they should be allowed to park before listening to their mother’s call to come to the couch for story time.  I figured I’d try to be a good example by being a bad example, so when Katie said, “time to stop playing with legos, boys, and come to the couch for stories,” before the boys could object I yelled out: “PLEASE, mommy, I just need to finish one more piece.  I’m almost done.  I don’t wanna stop yet.  Just three minutes…”

Katie wouldn’t have it, and repeated that play time was over, so I continued to play my role, standing up, sullenly saying “FINE, I guess I can finish it tomorrow and come to story time now…” trying to seem as dejected-but-obedient as I could.  The tactic seemed to be working, as Nic was smiling at me and following me out to the family room.

Dex, on the other hand, trumped me.  He looked at me very seriously and said, “oh, okay Daddy, I guess you can have 5 more minutes to play if you really want to.  It’s okay.  I’ll stay with you.”

We’re seriously doomed, aren’t we?