Monkey see, monkey do

Tru’s at that age where he’s starting to pick up things faster than I can blink. And I don’t mean with his hands. He’s observing me and replicating everything that I do. It’s terribly cute but also scary as hell because I’ll be solely responsible for the way he turns out. Like if he picks his nose in public or gives some random kid a sucker punch in the nose, it’ll be all my fault (except that I NEVER pick my nose and I’m the most peacable soul around – I can’t even hurt an ant)  Now I understand why parents are the first to get blamed when kids misbehave.

It all started out pretty harmless. When I’m doing the laundry or folding the clothes, he’ll come over and try to do the same thing, except make a bigger mess, but I’m guessing he was trying to help. Or when I’m fluffing the pillows and making the bed, I’ll see him trying to imitate me. But I didn’t give that much thought either. Until this morning.

So usually the mornings are madness these days. It’s mayhem from the time we get out of bed trying to get the kids changed and fed while the husband gets ready for work. Inevitably, there’ll be some crying because I do not have enough hands to attend to the small one when I’m changing the big one and vice versa. Sometimes, when I’m washing up, both kids will be up to some mischief. So anyway, I was brushing my teeth this morning when Kirsten woke up and started screaming for milk. Next thing I know, Tru goes up to her, points his index finger at her and says “Nonononono”.

Just a little bit of background, that’s my classic move when I’m telling Tru he can’t do something like drown himself in the pond or jump off the table Superman style. I’ll do the finger wagging and say “No no”. Apparently, he’s picked it up and doing it to his sister.

The implications are huge though. Now I have to think twice about raining curses on the next imbecile driver who almost gets me killed or when I stub my little toe on the curb. In fact, I’ll have to be on my best behavior ALL THE TIME from now on. I’ll have to eat all my spinach and peas, say please and thank you and not leave all my stuff strewn around the house. When I indulge in a tub of ice-cream, I’ll have to do it late at night or hiding in the kitchen like a fugitive. See, I’d rather not be explaining why he can’t have a tub himself.

They say having kids make all your flaws glaringly obvious. I say that’s an understatement. Having kids is like taking a loudhailer and blasting out all my imperfections at the top of my lungs while driving around the neighborhood. And then having it appear on the 6 o’clock news. Only this time, my kids are going to do it for me.