The smackdown of the smacktalker.
By a four-year-old eavesdropping genius.
It’s true confessional time: I was talking smack. Complaining.
There. I said it. And Hank, I apologize. I shouldn’t have done it.
With both boys in the car, I was discussing my chores with my oldest sister. I do this. Blah blah blah. And then I do this. Blah blah blah. Never noticed those perky little ears right behind me soaking in every rotten word.
On the car ride, Ewan fell asleep, as he often does. So of course, when we pulled into the driveway, I let Holden run inside and play while Hank worked so that I could sit in the car with Ewan while he slept out his nap.
A few moments later, here came Holden in leaps and bounds to knock on the window.
“Mom!” he said, of course bouncing up and down.
I opened the door with a quiet reminder to shush.
“Mom!” he said, at the exact same loudness as he did when the car door was shut. Jeez.
“Where’s my green guitar pick?”
“I don’t know, babe. You’re responsible for your stuff, remember?”
“But Mom! You said on the phone that you were the only one who ever cleaned, so that means only you know where my guitar pick is!”
Oh. Man. Shame on me and my words!