So, my kids don't listen to me.
I know what you're thinking, you're thinking that I'm not alone in this world of billions, where a good share of those billions are parents gone inaudible by their endearing chitlins. Wow. That was a sentence. How 'bout I rewrite it with concision? Okay. Nobody's kids listen to them. Well at least almost nobody. I've got a nephew that has done nothing but listen to his parents. A smart one, he is. Currently a junior (or senior?) in college studying physics with one career A minus and planning a PhD.
See friends? If you too had listened to your parents all of those years, you'd also be a physicist.
Here's where I'm different than most of the billions. My kids actually hear me, they just choose not to listen. The Yahoos do not listen to me because they think I'm dumb. Already. I thought the parents-r-dumb-eyes didn't get installed until puberty. What's up with that? I can present some grand, fun-filled or time-saving idea, one that I jazz up with my vast array of cheerleading skills, and they will look at me with snarled lip, as if to say, "You are so dumb mom. That idea is dumb."
Spouse, on the other hand? They think him a genius.
The truth is, those Yahoos have absolutely no idea who they are dealing with. I'm much smarter than Spouse, for I am a genius at manipulating events and/or words so as to appear genius. Sometimes I break the Playstation, so that they can run to me for fixing, thereby proving some smarts. And just yesterday, I hooked 'em with some reverse psychology. I threw the hand-out-candy-bucket on the kitchen table, and told them it was dinner. "There will be no dinner tonight, so dig into the candy." I received an immediate retort over that one. "What?! But we don't want candy for dinner!" Totally worked, for they ate real food for dinner. Without complaining.
Would you care for one of my dumb ideas? One that's been shot down time and time again?
For years, we've rolled home from trick-er-treating. And each year, I get all giddy 'n stuff as I explain to them the joy of sorting the loot. Did you sort your loot as a kid? I sorted my loot each and every year. I have tried, for somewhere around five years, to show my kids the joys of sorting the loot. That loot-sort has been shot down each of those five years. (Prolly an exaggeration, but I've got a story to tell here.)
Something happened last night. Maybe it was because they'd been punished-by-clean-the-entire-house for their complete lack of wanting to do anything. Who knows. But last night, I put on my metaphorical pom-poms and said, "Hey! Let's sort your loot!" and they replied with an affirmative.
I kind of double-took that action. What the?! The Yahoos said okay without cajoling and conning, prodding and pleading? They soaked up to my somewhat new idea without seduction, sweet-talk or stroking? They humored my genius without deception and decoy, beguile and excessive banter?
We dumped out the candy and began the sort while the Pound Hound looked on, salivating.
Yahoo #2 chose to sort by color:
Yahoo #1 chose to sort by type:
It was definitely a flag-ship day in my fleeting flurry as a parent. One for the books. However, I think I ruined the moment when I suggested we Bubble Sort. They both prolly know that the Bubble Sort is a sluggishly supine method of sorts. Perhaps I should have suggested the Comb Sort, Merge, or Divide and Conquer? Or maybe, since the candy was already sorted, we should have used a Smoothsort?
So all that sort stuff? Yet again, more proof that I can manipulate words so as to appear more genius.