Laughter

Call me Mother of the Year.

Somewhere, Papa is laughing his head off. Peanut has copied his mother.

Papa tells a story of my childhood that has long been backed up by Nana. It seems that when Evil Twin and I were toddlers, we were busy running amok and causing mischief outside. Hard to believe. Anyway. Papa sent us back into the house and told us that punishment would be discussed when he came in. Imagine his shock when, five minutes later, his children came outside to finish their mischief. Evil Twin had the brilliant idea to ask Nana if we could go outside. Nana, being unaware of potential punishment, agreed. Thus longer time-outs. Thus me no longer listening to Evil Twin, who still claims this was a good idea.

With some slight changes, history repeated itself tonight. Peanut has a bag of counting bears because Grammy has a wicked sense of humor. Right before bedtime, Peanut yanks the bag out from his toy box and requests a game. I know how this works: bears get dumped, and bedtime gets put off while Peanut slo-o-o-owly puts them back in the bag. Request denied.

Peanut being Peanut didn't stop there. With my refusal still lingering in the air, he went racing down the hallway to where Boomer was washing dishes and unaware of my conversation. Thus the smile on my face (for two seconds) and relief when Boomer said no as well. He's played this game, too.

I guess Peanut really did get more than my eyes and hands. He got Evil Twin's conniving spirit. Now I'm in trouble.

Call me Mother of the Year.