Each night before bed, Morris and I take turns telling bedtime stories. Well, tonight he got mad at me (I don’t even remember what I did to outrage him, those Gemenis can be so fickle) and insisted he tell his story first:
“Once upon a time there was a sweet and handsome boy named Morris (I was thinking oh, what a lovely fairytale this is gonna be). And there was a mean mommy named NORA (it is so weird to hear your kid say your first name, especially when he’s glaring at you like the Exorcist). And she wasn’t pretty. And she was the meanest mommy in all the planets, including Atlanta (his words got faster and it started reminding me of a Homie The Clown skit at the end just before Homie whacks someone). She was such a bad mommy. I picked her up and threw her in the trash can then covered her in dirt. The police came and took her to jail. A garbage truck ran her over (I’m sitting wide eyed now and don’t know whether to stop him, laugh, or cry). THE END.”
I didn’t know how to respond, so I just told him I loved him, even when he’s angry and kissed him on the cheek. He instantly wiped my poisonous kiss off and said, “Oh yeah, and Nora never got any hugs and kisses from the boy. THE END.” I must admit it made me a little sad to hear such a mean spirted story, but then I realized he was just expressing himself with words, and that’s a good thing. Throughout time, boys have always been told not to express their feelings or let their emotions show, so I guess I’ll take one for the team and allow the verbal beatdown.
Hopefully, all will be forgotten in the morning and I can regain my title as a nice mommy…or better yet, Pretty Mommy.