I wander down the lane of recognition of my own mortality staring me in the face, then I write about it

So, Alison told me a somewhat amusing story today.  She said that as she and the boys were leaving the house, Aaron turned to back down off the porch earlier than was necessary and was backing off in the direction of the bushes.  "Nice try, sucka!" says my toddler.  Apparently (and this is the amusing back story, as I learned later), he has a father (who shall remain unnamed) who says just that phrase to not just his kids, but just about anyone to whom it could apply.  Always in a spirit of jest, of course, but it turns out it may not be the best role to model.  Also, Alison tells me that it was a very sincere message of encouragement (along the lines of "nice try, you'll do better next time, my dear brother)...it just happened to have that "sucka" tacked onto the end.

In other news, his father (um, the other one, not me, of course; my speech is always impeccably proper) apparently also calls just about everyone a cheater when they do something mildly incorrect.  Even - if you can believe this - if they are not actually cheating.

I was alone with the kids tonight while Alison attended Ye Olde Birthday Bash for the RS.  I was tired today, but convinced that I could bridle my apparently-always-simmering annoyance with what I fatiguedly characterize as the willful disobedience of my toddler.  You know, because at almost three years of age his memory is perfect and his reasoning is flawless, and he should KNOW that because I told him a couple days ago that the blinds are off limits for play, touching them today is a no-no.  Also, he should be able to reason his way out of actions such as sitting on his baby brother.  My cognitive assent to his limitations notwithstanding, my emotions always seem to be just out of my control.  Today my son cried for the first time in what I know is a direct result of my yelling at him, and I wanted to crawl into a hole and bury myself afterward.  It was over something stupid, but I had been building up little pockets of irritation that combined into one big ugly abscess of anger and boiled over onto his poor littleness.  When he was safely eating his green beans, I tried to make it all better by apologizing.  "I'm sorry, bud.  I know Heavenly Father is sad when I yell at you.  I'll try to do better.  Do you forgive me?"  A timid yet hopeful "yes" and a big hug later, he is on his way to forgetting and I am still close to tears.  I can't be the only parent who has problems controlling him/herself with a little boy around, but I always expected better things of myself.  It turns out that, contrary to my previously held belief, I am capable of large amounts of anger.  I just needed a child to help me realize how much more self-control I still need to develop to reach the point of godhood.

On the other hand, my capacity for patiently enduring all sorts of difficulty with reasonable adults is unflagging.  Hooray!  Sometimes I think I am a much better charge nurse than I am a parent.  But, I guess nobody is expecting to inherit the position of Big Charge Nurse In The Sky if they play their cards right.  There's a reason, I think, that parenthood is meant to be the most challenging thing we ever undertake.

I am in one of those moods where I could keep typing all night, kind of like when you get home from a long day at work, stumble around for a couple of hours, and then go to bed and decide that what you'd like most is to keep your spouse awake for a couple hours with chit-chat.  Unfortunately for all two of you, you cheaters make a poor substitute for my spouse.  Nice try, suckas!