"I'm Mad at Yawwwll!"

Some of y'all are parents..you know how torturous or hilarious it can be trying to reason with a toddler.

For the rest of you, here's a little glimpse into the active mind of a three year old.

...

Yesterday mornin' I'm back and forth in the hallway, gettin' ready for work when I hear a shout from the bathroom...

"Hey Dhaaaa-Dee."

I pop my head in the door...and there he is standing in front of the toilet with his pajama bottoms and drawers around his ankles. What are you gonna do?

"What's up big man?"

"Dhaa-dee," he says...his brow all scrunched up, "I don't think Santy Clause is gonna bring me a chainsaw for Christmas...so, I'm gonna have to borrow y'all's."

...

Saturday night I took him to the Ole Miss/LSU game in Oxford. We parked at the Mall on Jackson...like four miles from the stadium. In years past there was a shuttle...in years past.

The walk there was long but without incident. It was 2 miles into the walk back that we had an issue...

"Dhaa-dee...I gotta go potty."

Of course he did...

"Alright son. We'll go over them bushes..."

"No dhaa-dee. I gotta poo poo."

Of course he did...

"Can you hold it til we get back to the truck?"

He said he could but it wasn't convincing...in fact he hinted that the process might already be starting. I'd seen a couple of port-a-potties in the lot where we parked. That was our best, if not our only, option. There was no telling what the traffic would be like and every gas station from there to Batesville would be jammed up with people in the same predicament.

As far as I knew..and you never really can know...he had never contemplated, much less been in, a port-a-pottie...so I told him our plan in hopes that it would distract him.

"A port-a-potty. What? Who came up with that? Adamparsons came up with that?"

"I don't think we can blame him for that one son."*

We carried on...cracking jokes about the port-a-potty til we finally arrived at our destination and he handled his business.

"Look son...you gotta tell your Momma that you went in a port-a-potty. Momma hates port-a-potties...she thinks they're nasty."

"They're nhaastee groowse," and he breaks up laughing.

I tell all that to set the scene for a conversation we had about twenty minutes later...just as we were gettin' on the interstate to head south.

"Dhaa-dee...are you proud of me."

What in the world? Is he three or thirteen?

"Of course I'm proud of you...you my main man. You're the best son ever."

"But Momma's not proud of me."

"What are you talking about son? Of course you're Momma's proud of you. Why would you say such a thing?"

"She's not proud of me...cause I went to the port-a-potty."

Oh Lord what have done? I've scarred this kid...

Then he breaks into maniacal laughter. I'm thinking I warped him for life and it was a punch line.

...

He has a problem with choices. He has no problem making a decision between choices...he just doesn't seem to understand that once you make a choice your options are closed.

"I wanna taka bath...I was on the play ground. I'm dirty."

"No son," his Momma deliberately explained, "I asked you..do you want to take a bath or watch football with Daddy. You decided you wanted to watch football. It's too late take a bath now. We're putting on your pajamas"

"Nooooooooooo. I'm dirty. I'm dirty," running off to the other side of the house.

Obviously he wasn't dirty or there wouldn't have been an option. He thinks he's a Jedi. He'll tell you he wants to watch football to put an end to the discussion but, in his tiny little mind, he's thinking he'll watch football til he's ready to go play in the bath...expecting that we'll have completely forgotten that a deal had been struck. He does it all the time and even though it never works...it makes him furious every time.

I followed after him...

"Look fella...stop being a lunatic and go put you're pajama's on."

Y'all should know he's standing in the kitchen, in a t-shirt, Thomas the Train drawers and green rubber rain boots (that's pretty much every night). He's frownin' hard...like he's trying to punch me in the face with his dirty look.

"Goooooooooo put your pajama's oooon."

"No!," and he folds his arms, "I'm mad at yawwwll."

His Momma who was headed into the kitchen with a purpose turned and went back the way she came, shoulders shaking, trying not to laugh out loud. It was all I could do to swallow hard and keep it together.

That's part of the problem trying to deal with these jokers. It's hard to discipline somebody when they're being hilarious...even if you're still just as mad at 'em. Not only was the scene hysterical...but his drawl was exquisite . An impossible situation.

...

At least he's starting to realize that it's us against him...instead of trying to play us against one another. The last time he tried that was an "argument" over what day of the week it was.

It was Monday morning...Mon-Day morning.

"It's Sundee....we gotta go to chuch."

"No it's Monday. You gotta go to school and me and Momma gotta go to work."

"It's not Monday...It's Sunday. I'm goin' to church."

"Dude it's Muuuuundaaaay...you want me to get a calendar?"

"I'm tellin' my Momma about you," and he jumps off the bed...runs outta the room to find his Momma.

...

Every day for at least the next 15 years...Lord help us.

It was Monday morning punk...Monday morning.


*I made the mistake of telling him that Adam Parsons had come up with the rubbish lorry after being asked about 1,000 times. He heard it on one of his videos and thought it was the craziest thing ever..."It's a Garbage Truck...not a rubbish lorry. Who came up with that?" He was incredulous.

For a couple days it was hilarious as he went around the house saying..."Adamparson's crazy." Then it back fired...he wanted to know all about Adam and all the other crazy things he's come up with. We talk about Adamparsons a lot.