Not Me Monday

"Not Me Monday"... an idea I am borrowing from my favorite Monday blog, Seeking Contentment

Let me tell you exactly what things are like in our home - we have RULES. And you best believe our little guy says "how high" when we say "jump." He doesn't test the limits again and again and again and again to see if we were really really serious that time.


So last night, he knew all about the No Toys at the Dinner Table rule. (It's a good rule.) He didn't plop his tushie in the chair holding Woody from Toy Story. If he had, I would have sternly instructed him to go put that toy in the toybox where it belonged. But he didn't, so there was no issue when we joined hands for grace. It wasn't like I held the toy's hand and listened to it give thanks. That sort of nonsense would never happen here. And if a child were to then hover the toy above his lasagna and make it mutter about how hot the food was? Turn a blind eye? Not me! Engage in a discussion about Woody's missing hat during family dinner time? Not me, either. I mean, you have to draw the line somewhere. Too tired to be consistent? Shame on you. That would never happen to me... after all, dinner is quality family time.


Did I just say dinner was quality family time? Right. So.

I did not stop at Stewarts on Friday and treat my family to ice cream for dinner. And we weren't all starving because I forget the meal vouchers when we went to the Great Escape for the company picnic. Not me, I wouldn't forget something important! And speaking of forgetting things, I did not smirk a little when I realized that Michelle (coworker) almost forgot her own vouchers after repeatedly reminding me about my own. Nope, I'm not that kind of lady. And when we wearily and happily left the Great Escape, after snacking on only smuggled crackers and apples, it wasn't me who decided that ice cream would be a proper meal. So, as you can plainly see, it was NOT my fault either when the ice cream dinner turned out to be a race my four year old was having with me that I knew nothing about. I can also promise you that, when he saw me take the last bite (that I did not wolf down noisily), and howled STOP BEATING ME as though he were, in fact, being beaten and not just losing an ice cream-eating race, I absolutely did not laugh out loud with a mouth full of waffle cone. What kind of mother would react that way? Not this one.

Dignity. I handle things with dignity.

The next day, when my son came up to me and announced in a loud voice "ROUND 1, FIGHT!" and put up his dukes, naturally I explained to him that violence was not acceptable in our loving, Christian home. I certainly did not bellow my husband's name, accuse him of corrupting our child, and stomp away. That sort of aggression? Emphatically not me. Furthermore, when my child repeated this behavior the next day, I did not pull a 180. I explained again (I swear!) in my quietly angelic voice that we do not put up our dukes like we are going to punch our mommy. Under no circumstances did I laugh at the innocent little one and raucously assure him "Knock yourself out, Buddy, but Mama is the Megaboss, I would OWN you." Who taunts a four year old; besides, he doesn't even know what a Megaboss is! Therefore, as I'm sure you already guessed, I concluded my morality lesson by teaching him an appropriate Bible verse, and it most certainly did not end with me swinging my puny opponent around by the feet and depositing him headfirst on the couch. Heavens, no!