What did you just say to me?

      x c m cmkdkncnnverkvgvmd,,f,d,c d,v,mmd,v d,fmfvm,,.v.,vv.,mmv,b, cvcvbc,bm,bv,v/,mnvmnmvbb. b ,m,  n  c n cvncv ncbcncnmcmcmvcm cvmnvnmbm vb mvb mvmbmmmmb m,vm.v cvmn  .,b.v.bcb. b,   bc  b b cb cb c     bc  b bb  b c b b b vv b vv      v      vv v v     v     nmnfv  cdvfdvv rvnvhhnouj mgjbtibnnbncm v m

Oddly enough, I had titled this blog BEFORE Jack decided to tell his side of the story.  I chose to keep it because it was just too good of a coincidence.  When I came back to my computer to continue blogging, he pointed and exclaimed proudly "Look Mommy! Nine horses!".  It's a good thing he told me what it was about, because there was no way I was going to guess the story he had written was equine in nature.

Two weeks ago a candle fell off the mantle suspiciously.  I say suspiciously because when asked, all the children who had been present at the time said that "no one" had broke it.  Jack had not been in the room when the candle was broken by no one, but the sound of glass shattering had his little feet pounding the floorboards to get to the scene as quickly as possible.  He came screeching around the corner yelling "What happen?" and I threw my hand in the air like a traffic cop, causing him to stop mid-stride.  His expression said that he fully expected me to place blame for no one's crimes on his tiny shoulders, and he took a step towards me as if to seek reassurance that I wasn't mad at him for today's mayhem.  I gave him a kind, but stern look and told him to "Stay where you are, pumpkin." until I could get the glass cleaned up.  The incident was quickly forgotten, at least by me.  It must have stuck with my little guy however, because a few days ago I was folding laundry in the back of the house and heard an odd crashing sound coming from the front room.  On a destruction scale, it didn't sound massive- more like slight, so I yelled "Jack!  What are you doing?" and got the instant reply: "Stay where you are, pumpkin!".  Nothing else would have been so successful in making me run the length of the house faster, but when I got to him I saw that he had only dropped a tote bag full of hot wheel cars.  As I drew in a shaky breath and moved forward to help him, he stopped me in my tracks with the hand in the air, traffic cop style and I full on belly laughed.  Apparently this was not a mess that I needed to get involved in, and I left my little mime to it.
These young people are always watching, aren't they?  It makes me feel... amazed, scared, pressured and more than a little creeped out that my every move is under scrutiny and could be repeated at any time.  Probably at church.  I thought I had been doing a really good job of watching what I say, but I guess not.  Yesterday, Mitch kept bringing items to me that had been on top of the fridge.  At first I didn't realize what he was doing, and I would take an object while muttering to myself "I thought this was on the fridge?  Hmmm."  I was sufficiently distracted in that it took me three times before I caught on to him, but in my defense he was being more covert than any two year old has a right to be.  He was moving the barstool back along the wall before he would bring me his prize.  Sneaky, right?  I thought so too.  Once I caught on, I belatedly started trying to assert myself with discipline.  Do I have to tell you that it didn't work?  Probably not.  He would give me his vacant stare with a charming half smile and a big eye blink, then run away to play and bide his time.  Some time would pass to find us in the same positions once again, with the same results.  On one occasion I caught him in the act and exclaimed "Damn it, Mitch!  I told you NO!".  I didn't even realize what I had said until an hour later when Jack came running to find me, yelling "MOM!  Damn it, Mitch!".  Sigh.   Now when Mitch starts doing anything that might be deemed inappropriate, Jack tattles by saying those three little words.  Mitch is going to start thinking that's his full name soon.  Other children get middle named when in trouble, not my kid.