My three littlest were playing house. Rather, Super M and Baby Sis were playing house, Baby Dude was just along for the ride, unaware of what they were really doing.
They were calling him “son,” having named him “DJ”. Super M’s pretend-name was “Chase” and Baby Sis’s name was “Dora” (big stretch there). They called out “Son! Son! Son!” a gazillion-and-a-half times, and I’m over there, giggling, as they lead him by the hand throughout the house on their homesteading adventure.
Suddenly, in true, house-like fashion, they started arguing. And for five freakin’ minutes all you heard was “Yes I can,” and “No you can’t,” whiny, small-kid-style.
“Yes I tan!“
“No you cayaaan’t!“
“Yes I tan!”
“No you cayaaaan’t!“
Five. Freaking. Minutes.
Overandoverandoverandover. My ears wanted to bleed, yet, all I could do is laugh. And giggle. And cringe. And laugh some more.
Suddenly Super M err “Chase” said his last “No you cayaaan’t” to which Baby Sis replied, again (but for the last time), “Yes I tan!!” and Super M, conceding defeat and finally over it, said “Okay. Let’s go!“
And just like that, it ended. They were off, calling out “Son! Son! Son!” again like it didn’t happen, and I didn’t just live through the single most hilariously annoying five minutes of my life.
This parenting stuff is pretty cool –and maddening – all at once.
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