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ninanevermore.
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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking that most 3 year olds don't get sarcasm, and I need to rein mine in now that my son has reached an age where he takes me seriously. It was all well and fine when he was a newborn to tell him that I was taking him back to the hospital to trade him in for a baby that didn't cry so much, and that he was still under warranty so they would take him back, no questions asked. He didn't care when I said that. It was okay when he was 1 and I told him that I was going to sell him on eBay with no minimum bid and no reserve, especially if he kept biting his classmates in daycare. Then, he didn't know what "sell" or "eBay" meant. Now that he is 3 going on 4, he understands a lot more. Worse, he trusts me enough to believe what I tell him. In a decade or so, I will lose all credibility: Then, I will be "stupid" and "not understand anything" because "things are different now than when I was his age." For now, however, I am all knowing and omnipotent and I need to use these powers responsibly.
I was shopping this weekend with my son in tow. While I paid for my purchases, my son began mess with a display in the store.
"Leave that alone, sweetie, you don't want to tear that up," I heard the cashier say to him. She was wrong, of course: he very much wanted to tear it up, or at least take it apart and examine all it's parts.
Looking up from my transaction, I told my son, "Get away from there, now! If you break it, they'll make you pay for it. Since you don't have any money, you'll have to stay here and work and I'll have to go home without you."
"We have a lot of work for you to do, too," said the cashier, nodding, "We'll keep you busy."
Upon hearing this, my son looked at me incredulously and then burst into tears.
I felt like a big jerk, and I can't blame him for crying. I worked retail when I was younger and if someone told me I would have to again, I would react the same way.
While the cashier finished bagging my purchases, I picked up my son and promised to never leave him behind at a discount outlet to work off a debt, no matter what he broke. I explained that I was teasing him and I apologized. He quit crying, but clung to me in case I changed my mind. Giving him the Matchbox car we had just bought seemed to reassure him. Sure, I might leave him behind, but it would be madness to leave behind a cool bright orange to-scale model of a sports car like the one he now had in his hand. Since he didn't plan on letting go of the little car, he was certain he was going home with me.
I've decided to watch what I say to my son from now on, but I blame my mother that I should have too. Whether it is the result of her DNA or example, she is the reason I am so sarcastic. Because of her, I learned to recognize sarcasm at an early age, and ignore it.
When my mother said things like. "Stop calling me 'Mom,' because I quit! I'm running away from home, and you just won't have a mother. You're just going to have to learn to clean up after yourself and fix your own lunch, damnit," I didn't cry or take her seriously. I learned at an early age that this was just the kind of thing my mother said from time to time. She never actually ran away from home and that I eventually got fed once she got to a stopping place in whatever project she was working on.
Hopefully, my son will eventually learn, too. Until then, I need to be careful about what I say to him, or else start carrying around a stash of new and previously un-played-with Matchbox cars to smooth over hurt feelings.
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.
.
Today on my drive into work, I was thinking that most 3 year olds don't get sarcasm, and I need to rein mine in now that my son has reached an age where he takes me seriously. It was all well and fine when he was a newborn to tell him that I was taking him back to the hospital to trade him in for a baby that didn't cry so much, and that he was still under warranty so they would take him back, no questions asked. He didn't care when I said that. It was okay when he was 1 and I told him that I was going to sell him on eBay with no minimum bid and no reserve, especially if he kept biting his classmates in daycare. Then, he didn't know what "sell" or "eBay" meant. Now that he is 3 going on 4, he understands a lot more. Worse, he trusts me enough to believe what I tell him. In a decade or so, I will lose all credibility: Then, I will be "stupid" and "not understand anything" because "things are different now than when I was his age." For now, however, I am all knowing and omnipotent and I need to use these powers responsibly.
I was shopping this weekend with my son in tow. While I paid for my purchases, my son began mess with a display in the store.
"Leave that alone, sweetie, you don't want to tear that up," I heard the cashier say to him. She was wrong, of course: he very much wanted to tear it up, or at least take it apart and examine all it's parts.
Looking up from my transaction, I told my son, "Get away from there, now! If you break it, they'll make you pay for it. Since you don't have any money, you'll have to stay here and work and I'll have to go home without you."
"We have a lot of work for you to do, too," said the cashier, nodding, "We'll keep you busy."
Upon hearing this, my son looked at me incredulously and then burst into tears.
I felt like a big jerk, and I can't blame him for crying. I worked retail when I was younger and if someone told me I would have to again, I would react the same way.
While the cashier finished bagging my purchases, I picked up my son and promised to never leave him behind at a discount outlet to work off a debt, no matter what he broke. I explained that I was teasing him and I apologized. He quit crying, but clung to me in case I changed my mind. Giving him the Matchbox car we had just bought seemed to reassure him. Sure, I might leave him behind, but it would be madness to leave behind a cool bright orange to-scale model of a sports car like the one he now had in his hand. Since he didn't plan on letting go of the little car, he was certain he was going home with me.
I've decided to watch what I say to my son from now on, but I blame my mother that I should have too. Whether it is the result of her DNA or example, she is the reason I am so sarcastic. Because of her, I learned to recognize sarcasm at an early age, and ignore it.
When my mother said things like. "Stop calling me 'Mom,' because I quit! I'm running away from home, and you just won't have a mother. You're just going to have to learn to clean up after yourself and fix your own lunch, damnit," I didn't cry or take her seriously. I learned at an early age that this was just the kind of thing my mother said from time to time. She never actually ran away from home and that I eventually got fed once she got to a stopping place in whatever project she was working on.
Hopefully, my son will eventually learn, too. Until then, I need to be careful about what I say to him, or else start carrying around a stash of new and previously un-played-with Matchbox cars to smooth over hurt feelings.
