I feel like a film director. I’m no Steven Spielberg but I am a parent. I direct stuff.
Too often, with my 10-yr-old, I’m shouting in my head, “And…action!”
Translated: This would be a good time to give me that glittery rock you found at school. I can actually appreciate it now. Because I’m not elbow-deep in soapy water washing dishes like I was when you first tried to hand me the stone.
Then, there’s my shrill silent-screaming of, “And…cut!”
Translated: This would be a good time to stop talking. You’ve given me something and that is a gift in itself. Please don’t utter another word about it. Because I’d love to not hear that you were going to keep the rock but it’s chipped on the bottom so you don’t want it.
My son needs to embrace that charming little saying about closed mouths not gathering any feet.
My Sunday thoughts in 200 words or less.