Poo poo

I know what you're thinking.

But you're wrong!

This is not going to be another post about #3, aka Mud Butt, aka Mr. Poopy Pants, aka Dr. Diarrhea.

This post is actually going to be about #2 and his insane obsession with having the last word.

I mean, I know better than anyone the importance of being right. Because, let's face it, I usually am.

I may not find it necessary to point it out every time I'm right and he's wrong.

I may not throw a stomping, screaming, body hurling fit on the rare occasion that I am slightly wrong and he is theoretically right.

And, I may not make it a point to mollywop anyone and everyone who has the audacity to insinuate that there is a possibility that I might in fact, be wrong.

His preoccupation with being right and having the last word seems to infiltrate his life on a daily basis.

He's obsessed with it.

Let me give you an example:

The other day #2 was spinning in a circle while dancing along to the Imagination Movers. #3 was standing in the vicinity also doing his interpretation of dancing.

I calmly requested that #2 be careful while spinning so as not to smack #3 in the face or knock #3 into the fireplace.

I was, as expected, ignored by #2.

So, as usual, I sent over my request again.

I was further ignored.

I finally arose from my position at the counter, walked over to #2, grabbed his arms and again asked him not to spin so closely to #3 b/c I would be very angry if he hurt him. I relocated #2 to a place far enough away from #3 to prevent injury.

I considered him warned.

I went into the kitchen to retrieve a sippy cup for #3, when low and behold, it happened. #2 lost his balance while spinning (imagine that!) and did both of the things I advised him not to do unless he wanted to suffer the wrath of mommy.

Did I lose it? Not entirely. But I did retrieve #3 from his place against the fire place, turned off the T.V., and pointed directly to the "naughty chair".

He screamed, he cried, he said he hated me and my stinkin' baby. He ran in circles and kicked the toys.

I put #3 down (had stopped crying, but that's not the point, is it?) and ushered (OK dragged) #2 to the naughty chair and strapped him in without a word (go me!).

Once I had gotten my mind right. I approached him and explained why I was upset, and informed him that I wanted him to apologize to #3 by saying he was sorry and giving him a hug.

He slid quickly from his recently unbuckled chair, ran over to #2, embraced his snotty, tear streaked face in a kinda-feels-good-but-kinda-hurts-embrace and said, "I'm sorry I hurt you, Poo poo."

No way, Jose. You do not get to add an insult to your apology. Try again, buddy.

"Okay, Poo poo, I'm sorry."

What? Moving poo poo to the front doesn't change anything. Again.

Screaming now, "I'M SORRY I HURT YOU." And I quickly interjected in an attempt to prevent further foolishness by saying, "Thank you for apologizing."

He ran off, but not before casting a "POOPOO!" over his shoulder.

I let it go, because that's what I do when I am clearly going to be the loser.

Does he ALWAYS have to get the last word in?

He was obviously wrong in this case.

All he had to do was follow my initial instructions to avoid injuring his brother. And, barring that, all he had to do was APOLOGIZE for his wrong doing. But, he couldn't do it. Or he wouldn't do it.

I swear, sometimes he is just like his father!