Finally, everyone was in pajamas and cuddled on my lap in the big red chair for books. This is often my favorite part because I love a good story. Also, once a theatre major, always a theatre major and so I have to admit it's nice to let my inner thespian run if only over the pages of "Go Dog, Go." Tonight's selection, however, was a double dud. No stories, just a counting book and a Spanish words board book. I counted thirty oddly drawn monsters and rolled all the Rs in words taking us from La Cochina to El Bano and beyond and the kids listened. The selective power of the child's ear is amazing to me. They sit rapt while I count "two whiskers, three warts, four lumps..." but try to tell them how the moon rises or ask them to stop banging the wooden hammer against the French doors and I might as well be speaking another language.
At any rate, you're probably wondering what got me to the last straw. I'm wondering that too because now that they are asleep and breathing softly down the hall, I miss them.
"Say your prayers and you die..." Theo shouted. And I, in my best authoritarian Mom voice said, "That is inappropriate." He's flinging action movie jargon my way and all I can come back with is a bit of flustered librarian speak. It's troubling to hear this kind of strange threatening language come out of my boy and as much as I know he's testing out the power of these words, it's hard not to become hurt and worried. Violence is out there and its power is undeniable. It is my job to accept this and help my son find the way through it to peace.