We have entered the stage of The Informer (although dammit I hate to use a Cosby-ism at this point). It’s not what you think necessarily. Sure, I get the “Moooooo-oooom, Felix put his toes on me.” Or the “Stella touched McQueeee-eeeeeen, Mama! I gonna smash her!”
Side note: how is it that whining/bratty children and southerners manage to insert extra syllables into the most basic words? And yes, I am likely guilty of this as well, although I like to think I only add 0.1-1 extra syllable, max.
No, my children – Felix in particular, are beginning to rat out their father for perceived infractions. Yesterday when I got him home from school, Felix informed me, “Daddy put me in time out and it was loud and he was too fast.” This translates into a familiar scene: Will getting irritated by something – often the chase-each-other-around-the-couch-acting-stupid game – donning the Voice of Dad, and ultimately cleaning house by sending each kid to their room for a while, often assisting lollygaggers by sweeping them up, striding purposefully to the destination, and depositing the offender on their bed.
I think it’s hilarious that I have my own rat squad or spy network. Of course I know they’ll never rat me out because I’m always a perfect mother and never fuck up. 😉