On Fire?

Naturally, one would assume after four years of parenting, hubby and I would have a pretty good grip on what things are okay to say in front of our children. Turkey-man has quite a literal mind so when we say something, we have to be cautious, knowing he will take our words at absolute face value.

A few weeks ago we had a tornado warning issued for our area. We ventured to the basement and played with the kids down there. Things escalated into the news announcing there was a confirmed tornado on the ground and it was spotted basically a couple of streets from our house. We took the kids under the main support beam of our house and continued playing with toys, waiting to see what was going to happen. Thankfully, nothing did.

We cleaned things up and hubby thanked Turkey-man for doing such a good job when “we were about to die.” This mild exaggeration on hubby’s part turned into a little conversation with Turkey-man that we really were not about to die and everything was okay. Not the smartest words hubby could have uttered.

Today, I had a little statement of my own that brought much anxiety to Turkey-man and I should have seen it coming before the words were ever out of my mouth!

As is common among stay-at-home-moms, naptime in our house is sacred. Mama has a couple of hours to regain the sanity that was lost throughout the morning. Turkey-man has stopped taking naps and is now required to go to his room and read books or play quietly with toys. He goes in spurts with doing this well and right now we are in a phase where he is basically refusing to do this. So, today I was trying to lay down the law. I told him that unless the house was on fire, I did not want to see him downstairs until quiet time was over.

Yeah a solid five minute conversation followed. No, the house would not probably catch on fire. Yes, the firemen would come, but no, we do not want to see them. Etc. I am sure you have the idea.

Apparently, I am a slow learner because when he made his way downstairs 15 minutes later, I asked him to repeat the only reason it was okay to come downstairs. And, yes, we had to have another 5 minute conversation to reassure him that the house was not actually going to catch on fire.

(Just mentally insert a picture here of me repeatedly banging my head against the wall.)

I have always struggled with lacking the filter that should go between my brain and mouth. This parenting gig takes that to a whole new problematic level. Maybe someday I will finally get one installed before I scar these kids permanently!

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