The Student Has Become The Master

You don't choose the traits that are passed on to your kids. This wasn't a problem when Layla got Josh's never-ending empathy or when Ben got Josh's easy, light-hearted sense of humor. Unfortunately, since it's pretty much impossible to give birth to two Josh clones, they were genetically destined to aquire a trait or two of mine.

Which is why I'm now I'm the Queen Mother of All That Is Stubborn. Literally.

It all began fairly recently when Ben decided that he hated putting his PJs on. Evidently somewhere along the line he made the connection that PJs equal bedtime, and there's nothing he hates more than having to go to bed. Much like he truly believes that the shower is a porthole to Narnia from which I will never return every time I take a shower, he believes that absolutely nothing cool or fun happens until his head hits the pillow. Of course, anyone with kids knows that this couldn't be farther from the truth because generally the moment the kids go to sleep is the moment that you're finally free to sit on your butt and do absolutely nothing at all. It's glorious, and when your kid's massive stubborn streak turns what should be a short, sweet process into an hour-long battle, it can feel especially frustrating. Especially when that massive stubborn streak is directly inherited from you.

Despite what you've read in this blog, I do actually have a few good qualities. I'm nice. I'm honest. I brake for animals. But my good qualities tend to get pushed into the shadows by my keen ability to have an adult-sized temper tantrum because I flat-out refuse to admit that I accidentally bought a head of cabbage instead of a head of lettuce. I'm a mature adult, just not when it comes to admitting that I'm wrong. Or doing something I don't want to do. Or when I've lost my cell phone for the eighty-seventh time that day. And now, it appears, I've created an adorable little monster.

Layla is stubborn in her own ways, but she's still impressively pliable for a four-year-old. The only thing she really ever fights me to the death on is wanting to wear her tiara to the grocery store. There's no negotiating with Ben. He can't be bribed, bought, coerced, or otherwise distracted from what he wants. If you think you can talk sense into him, you're wasting your time. While I believe that every two-year-old is impervious to logic (especially when it's coming from their parents), Ben doesn't even waste his time pretending to listen. Negotiation attempts are right on par with trying to talk to a kitchen table, but at least the table will sit still while it ignores you.  Whether it's bypassing bedtime or getting a cookie after we say no, Ben never forgets and will continue to try and try to get what he wants until you collapse and give in. To be honest, if he was someone else's kid, I'd probably admire his commitment. His pièce de résistance, and subsequent salt in the wound, is that he usually doesn't even want whatever it was that was a seemingly necessary staple in his life mere moments earlier. He just wants to prove that he can get what he wants.

The student has become the master.