Ganging up

by Katie on August 3, 2015

So, it is well known that Brandon and Leyton are two peas in a pod. Physically, she is practically his female clone. Most of her personality seems to mimic his as well. Really, the only things we’ve found so far that can be directly linked to me over him are her clumsiness and giant feet. Translation:  I pass on awesome genetics. What little girl wouldn’t want those things, right? Bless her heart…

Anyway, it’s becoming more and more frequent that these two conspire against me. Leyton’s propensity to repeat everything she hears is really only making this worse. (And also increasing Daddy’s “filter” when he’s at home. We’ve already had an incident where she asked us where the “shiP” was after incorrectly overhearing him in the car. Awesome.)

So, Friday night, when we tend to be a bit more relaxed with bedtime anyway, the two of them were snuggled on the couch, chatting, tickling, howling like a coyote, and who knows what else. But Mama, who’d been “on the hook” all day, was getting more than ready for bedtime. Especially since bedtime, which a mere month ago only took a total of maybe 97 seconds (before we took away her pacifier that she was still using to sleep), now takes an average of 97 minutes. And let me tell you, after more than a month of this, Mama is Over. It. But that’s all really another story entirely.

I kept giving Brandon gentle reminders about the time and suggestions we start the bedtime process, since a “process” is exactly what it is currently.

At some point, he gave his sappy little excuse about how he’d hardly spent time with his girl all week (true, he was baling hay, leaving in the middle of the night and working 18 hour days), and wanted to get in all he could that night. He wrapped up with, “I have a point, Mama.” (Please tell me most of you other parents call each other “Mama” and “Daddy” around the little ears too?)

Well, when Leyton heard this, she sat straight up on the other side of him and chimed in, “Yeah, Mama, I have a point.”

Awesome.

I mean, you’re not really properly a parent until you’ve been schooled by your two-and-a-half-year-old. Here’s hoping she doesn’t begin using this phrase on her own…yet.

 

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