It's the moment every parent of a preschooler dreads: being pulled aside by the teacher at the morning drop-off for a "talk." Now, I've eavesdropped on several of these conversations, and they are usually along the lines of "Your child has a problem with hitting other students," or "You might want to consider speech therapy for that lisp." (I know what you're thinking. And I'm willing to admit that I'm BEYOND nosy. I mean, just last weekend my husband and I had the Best Date Ever. Why? Because the couple at the table next to us totally met on Match.com. Score!)
So there I was, ready to defend my parenting skills, when I was presented with this: "Can you please ask your son to stop correcting my grammar? They're really not going to like that in kindergarten next year." Well. My first (obnoxious) thought was maybe his kindergarten teacher won't need correcting. But I had the decency to swallow my laughter and look embarrassed. (And if you're reading this, Mrs. X? Surely you recognize that keeping our opinions to ourselves is not a family trait.)
On the ride home, I asked my son why he felt the need to correct his teacher. He said, "I thought it would be a funny thing to put on your blog! Well. As I could hardly argue with that logic, I turned around and gave him a high-five. Mixed signals, you say? I seem to excel at this.
For example, my son once walked into the kitchen around 9:00 a.m. to find me wrist-deep in a carton of Ben & Jerry's.
Him, eyes wide: "Ooh, can I have some too?!"
Me: "Of course not, it's breakfast time!"
Him: "Well why do YOU get to eat it?"
(Let's remember I had a choice here. And rather than give my 5 year-old a lesson in hormones, I did what any caught-red-handed-mom would do: improvised.)
Me: "You have to be 21 to eat dessert for breakfast."
Him: "Oh. Just like the age I can have a cocktail."
Do I worry that my son will grow up craving bourbon-soaked ice cream? To be honest, I'm more concerned about his vocabulary. Because I've also noticed that when stuck in slow traffic, I yell, "Drive faster, ya bag of bones!" and then say to my kiddo, "Honey, that's only okay when we're in a hurry." So the next time Mrs. X pulls me aside for a morning conference, I will ask: "Did he call you a bag of bones? No? Then we're good here."