Beat 'Em At Their Own Game!

Secret: Sometimes I dread picking up Eldest Son from summer camp. I know that when he gets in the car he's going to talk my ear off when all I want to do is be a total mom-nerd and listen to boring NPR stories on the car radio.

The Boys and Me. Eldest Son is on the Left. 

Eldest Son is a TALKER. He can go for hours on end. He's curious and searching for truth and understanding in his little world. And while some way too cool and emotionally connected hipster mom can publicly feign like she's fully engaged and truly desiring to hear what her child has to say all the time, I cannot.

Sometimes I just want to be left alone or be silent or be anywhere else other than waiting in a car line hoping to God Almighty the army of college level graduates that dwells inside can figure out how to time-efficiently herd my son out of the school doors to my waiting van. I've had enough! So yesterday I decided to turn the tables on my wonderful little son and let him experience what Mommy's life is really like.

He hopped in the van and immediately I said:

"Why hello Mommy!"
Eldest- "What? I'm Eldest. Not Mommy!"
Fiery Wife-"Mommy, where are we going?" (this is one of eldest favorite questions to ask)
Eldest-"Mommy!"
Fiery Wife-"No you're mommy and I'm Eldest!"
Eldest- "MOM! NOOOOOOOOOO!"

Oh, it was on. Now I truly began my vengeful game of role reversals. Here is a list of things I did:

-Continually called the name "Mommy"
-Randomly screamed at the top of my lungs
-Asked random questions in random order continuously. For instance, "Why are we driving in a van? Why do tigers have stripes? Why are Stop signs red?"
-Sang the choruses of "let It Go", "Do You Want to Build a Snowman", and "Everything is Awesome" in a loop, in three different keys, sang it soft, then sang it really really loud.
-Pretend cried
-Tattled on Youngest Son even though he wasn't in the van

By this time, through giggles and grunts, Eldest was getting the whole purpose of this exercise. He tried to up the ante by actively playing the role of "Mommy", somehow thinking this would make me stop playing the game. But it didn't. It only fueled my desire to give a little back of what I get every single day of the year. The giggles turned more into grunts and then Eldest yelled to me at the top of his lungs:

"YOU ARE A GIRL! YOU ARE NOT A BOY SO STOP IT!"

To that statement I replied:

"My name is Eldest and I'm a girl. I don't have a pito (Spanish colloquialism for male private parts)!"

Eldest paused; dumbfounded that I said I didn't have a pito and tried to figure out who I was talking about. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw his face. He had a little half smirk right before we bother busted out in a solid minute of hysterical laughter- like crash the car and become a sad story on the news hysterical.

The last time I had this much fun was over the weekend when Husband and I decided to become "MMA" fighters in our living room. We rolled around like two little kids legitimately trying to put each other in submissive holds. I got to "ground and pound" Husband. Well, kinda. It was more like he forgot how strong I was and I took advantage of that fact, jumped on him with all my weight, and half slapped his face over and over while I yelled out "Ground and pound!" over and over again. But I digress.

After Eldest Son and I laughed, I continued on my tirade, and for the first time, I saw how I look to my children. These are the things I saw Eldest doing in the rearview mirror:

-Sighing
-Putting his hand on his forehead
-Rolling his eyes
-Answering me shortly
-Yelling at me
-Screaming at me
-Threatening time outs and spankings to stop me from doing whatever it was I was doing
-Ignoring me
-Over talking me
-Talking under his breath

Hmmm. I wonder where he learned those skills?

Finally, I said "Mommy" one last time about 2 miles from our destination. I was met with a saged silence only a person who's experienced the relentless chatter of a child would offer up. And from my little social experiment, I was granted 2 miles of silence I gladly accepted.

Dinner that evening was exceptionally void of musings from Eldest Son. I told him "eat your food" much less than I usually do. But this afternoon, when I went to pick him up from day camp, he started it again.

"Mommy. Where are we going? I hope it's home because I don't want to go anywhere else. Mommy. What are we having for dinner? Mommy. Mommy. Mom?"

I felt a helplessness creeping back up in me but I remembered I had a new weapon in my parenting arsenal. All I said was "Mommy" in my most precocious child-like voice. In the rear view mirror, he flashed a grin and didn't say another word for the rest of the ride. Mission. Complete.