The memories of the grocery store antics of the kids got me to thinking of a couple other funny moments - but they didn't seem all that funny at the time. In retrospect though they were hysterical.
How about the time K, when she was about 6, had been told to go to bed . . . several times. It was getting late, I was getting frustrated, she was bouncing off the walls, and I finally had had enough. I raised my voice and shouted "Go to bed or you're getting a spanking!" I heard her scamper off to the other room with nary another whimper . . . and felt relief that she'd finally listened. Oh, she'd listened all right - the little snip - she came skipping back into the room, all wide-eyed innocence, handed me a wooden spoon and turned to present her backside to me. Confused I asked her what in the world she was doing. Her response? "You said go to bed or get a spanking. I'll take the spanking please." OOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! GO TO BED NOW OR YOU'RE GETTING BOTH!!! That was apparently quite unfair because following my outrage came the mournful howls of despair "You saaaiiiiiiddd (sob-sniff-sniff) ORRRRRRR!" Oh brother.
Or when G decided at the ripe old age of 4 that I was cruel and horrible and he just didn't want live with us any more. Apparently I'd told him NO to something 1 too many times for he informed me that "I hate you! I am running away from home!" Without letting him see the blood pouring from the gaping wound he'd just stabbed through my heart, I quietly set about laying out a large bandanna. I made a PB&J sandwich, carefully wrapped it and laid it on the bandanna. I laid 2 juice boxes out there, 2 pairs of underwear and socks, a flashlight, some gloves and a paper with our telephone number and names. I tied it up into a bundle, attached it to the crooked end of his hockey stick, got his jacket, gloves and hat out (it was late October at this point - and dark/chilly out early), some warm boots, bundled the now very confused child up, handed him his stick, showing him how to prop it over his shoulder with the bundle of goodies behind him, and gave him a hug. I said, well, if you really don't want to live here I can't force you. Have a wonderful life. I'll miss you horribly. If you could please call me when you get where you're going so I know you're ok I would appreciate it. I shoved him out the door, gave him a little kiss (by now he was struggling not to cry) and closed and locked the door. At this point K was sobbing - MOOOMMMMY, don't let him leave! shhhh, he's fine. I snuck into a dark room where I could watch him out the window - it was about 6 pm at this point. He walked down the steps and sat down, staring at the house. He heaved a huge sigh. Pretty soon, maybe 5 minutes, he got up and walked across the driveway, watching the door as he went. He sat down on the curb, opened his bundle and ate his sandwich, drank a juice and eyeballed the other stuff inside. He made it to the neighbors driveway, sat back down, drank the 2nd juice (it was 6:30 by now), shoved the underwear/socks/flashlight and bandanna into his pocket, and eyeballed the door awhile longer. I could see him staring down the road toward the gas station a few blocks away, back down the other way to the dark school yard, and back at the house. He headed back to the porch and knocked on the door. "I've decided to wait and run away tomorrow when it's daytime." He never ran away again, and "No" became slightly less traumatic from that day forward. Sometimes you just have to let them grow up and go their own way. They'll usually knock on that door and come home again, sometimes not even 1/2 hr later than when they left.
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