Bringing Up Baby

One of us, someone with a blog, made an entry recently about the difficulty of raising children. I made a mental note to reply - it's a subject I'm immersed in, having three young children - but now I can't find the entry. So, I'll reply simply in total agreement.

Of my three children from my present marriage the most volatile (I'll avoid the word 'problematic') is the three year old almost four. He's a treat, and a trick. He has almost indestructable toys, such as a bicycle with training wheels, but most of the others he dismantles; he took apart two 99 cent flashlights PDQ (pretty damn quick) I bought him today before the sun set. I'll do what I usually do, get the same 99 cent packet of two tomorrow and use the first packet for parts. I did the same thing with a 99 cent helicopter that actually flies. China spoils us. The helicopter takes off when you pull the string rotating the three blades. But upon crashing something or other nearly always breaks, and if it doesn't he flies it into a brick wall on purpose. So I buy a lot of Krazy glue and use the irreparably broken one for parts.

I'm ashamed to admit he picks up and uses all the foul language, and directs it toward his mother, who is always blameless of his charges, language that he has learned from, you guessed it, his foul-mouthed father. If I punish him, even if I threaten to punish him, he gets back at me by piteously pleading soon after, with "Can I have some food?" He pulls a face quivering so wind-struck a lake of tears seem about to fall. It's blackmail pure and simple. The boy is a genius and doubtless will rule a kingdom somewhere rich. Believe me he is thoroughly fed food food food, all day long if he demands it. His mother spoon feeds him to make absolutely certain he is fed fed fed. But seeing how important it is to us that he be well fed, he tortures us by putting on his 'When are you gonna feed me?' act. This boy will rule in hell. Nah, God's in his pocket.

Barry