I’m annoying. And unfortunately my apples didn’t fall far from the tree.
With Lily cuddled on my lap suffering from Faucet Nose I asked Jackson if he could hand me the remote control so I could flip on the TV. Without a word of protest he walked over to the table and handed me the phone. “Oh Jack, I said the rem…” His dimple appeared and I knew he was up to no good as he fought, unsuccessfully, to control the mischievous curl of his lips. He put the phone back and handed me a notepad. Then a pen. Then back to the phone.
“Jackson, please. Lily doesn’t feel well and I really don’t want to have to get up” Trying not to smile he handed me a barrette. Then put it back down and handed me the pen again.
Through clenched teeth I said ‘Jackson, just hand me the remote please’ (ok, I may have dropped the please at that point).
He handed me a candle.
I was about to snap at him but my irritation melted away as I caught another glimpse of that dimple and the playful grin now spanning his face . Reflecting back in the grey-blue of his eyes I saw myself doing the exact same thing to my husband (except my son has a lot more committment). I saw myself annoyingly putting a dribble of wine in a glass when being asked for “just a drop more” and throwing a bun across the table at someone because they innocently asked me to “toss them a dinner roll”. I often protest with a grin that I’m merely charming and adorable but if it’s not adorable when my own children are doing it… well, it gave me pause.
Fortunately my kids have my husband’s intelligence but it appears they’re forever burdened with my sense of humour.
My poor children.