Reality Show

If I did not very clearly remember giving birth to my children, I would often question whether they were mine. The things that come out of their mouth make me feel like I'm living in a sit-com. I don't think I was a boring kid, but I'm pretty certain I was not bursting with personality like my two little angels. Er, heathens. Er, smart-alecky yet adorable kids.

A couple weeks ago, Alex was talking about a friend's sister who was allowed to stay home by herself when she was 11. He asked if he would be allowed to stay home alone at that age. So as not to start an argument, I told him that MAYBE he could, for brief periods. Without missing a beat, he asked, "Can I have a party?" I burst out laughing. Trying to save face, he claimed he meant a party with himself. Uh, I don't think I want him having a party with other kids OR himself, if you get my drift.

Last week, Lauren begged me to snuggle on the couch with her. I obliged, of course, and as soon as I sat down she twisted herself around so her feet were in my lap. "You can rub my feet," she stated in her sweet little voice. Again, I burst out laughing. It's not that I'm opposed to rubbing her feet (my husband's feet are another story). It's just that foot-rubbing does not occur in our house--unless you're rubbing your own--so I couldn't figure out where she even learned about that little pleasure. I'll blame one of those insipid "tween" shows on the Disney Channel.

Here's another Lauren classic: We were walking around the People's Choice Festival on Sunday, and Lauren kept asking me to carry her. I kept telling her no. So she said her knees were broken. I said that if her knees were broken, she could not go to her friend's birthday party. "My knees are all better now. Let's go to the party!" she exclaimed. Of course I have heard this type of thing before from Alex, but Lauren is only 3. I can't decide if this type of advanced thinking should make me proud--or scared.

Speaking of advanced thinking ... Alex can turn just about any conversation around to meet his needs. He stops just short of outright lying. I have to choose my words very carefully to ensure there are no loopholes Mr. Manipulation will use to his advantage. He was being his typical argumentative self recently and I warned him not to "talk back." He claimed he could not "talk back" when I had not said anything to him in the first place. It was true I had not said anything to him right before I told him not to talk back. Oy. In my case, having a smart kid means having a smart ass kid. According to my mom, this is payback ...

I recently took Lauren to a birthday party where all the children were, fortunately, very well behaved. I talked to some of the other parents about the differences between our kids' behavior at home and in other settings. At home, our kids let it all hang out--the good, the bad, and the ugly. Someone pointed out that the "experts" say kids who act out at home are also the ones who feel the most loved. If that's true, then my kids feel REALLY loved.

And that's the way it should be. The feeling loved part, at least. I could do without the smart-ass comments and sibling squabbling, but I've accepted that it's a package deal. Here's hoping we all make it through the weekend intact.