Wisten to Me

This morning, Owen put one small hand on each of my cheeks, and said, "Mommy, you need to wisten to me."

"Okay, Buddy," I replied. "What's up?"

"No, Mommy, no. Wisten to me." His eyes are intent. This is serious business. "You need to stop saying, 'No, Owen.' or 'Get down, Owen.' That's rude."

I. Am. Dying. I start to laugh. Owen takes my face in my hands, "No, Mommy no. Wisten to me. Don't be rude. Don't say, 'No, Owen.'"

I compose myself, and put his face in my hands. "Well, Buddy, Mommys and Daddys sometimes get to say, 'No' and 'Stop.' That's a Mommy and Daddy job."

Owen thinks hard. Swallows. Finally, he says, "That's an Owen job."

"Sorry, Buddy. That's the way it works."

"That's rude."

Well, Owen, life is rude. It doesn't always give you what you want. But it could be a lot ruder if we let you have what you want. You would expect it all, and lash out at life when things get hard. Preventing that---it's a Mommy and Daddy job.