Four years old needs to learn some manners.
"Mom! I need help!"
"You need help what?"
"I need help wiping!!"
"You need help wiping what?"
"You need help wiping your butt what?"
"I need help wiping my butt because I pooped!"
There may or may not have been a day recently in which Bea refused to say please and literally chased me around the house yelling at me to wipe her ass.
Chasing me around.
Eight years old should maybe be afraid of four years old.
Al and kids sitting around living room the other night.
Bea playing with Olive. Owen reading books a few feet away.
Bea talking to Olive;
Bea: "Bite Owen. Go on. Bite him!"
Olive: You could tear my ears off and I wouldn't bite you. I'm the sweetest dog ever remember?
Bea: "Come on! Bite him Olive! Bite him!"
Olive: I wouldn't even bite that evil woman who calls herself Mommy. She fucking hates me and I don't want to bite her even a little. Why would I bite Owen?
Bea: "Please Olive? Bite Owen! Just bite him!!"
Olive walks over to Owen and licks him.
Bea to Al: "That was a mean lick."
Four years old knows that everyone needs a Mommy.
I got a call from my sister. Her boyfriend's mother is 95, living at home with him, and had possibly decided to start dying. She wanted me to go check on her.
And I'm just so fucking nice, I threw the kids in the car and headed over to see Edith.
My kids come to work with me often. They know about old people. They know old people die.
"Mommy? Is Joe's Mommy sick?"
"Well. She's very old and is maybe sick."
"Is Joe's Mommy going to die?"
"I don't know."
"If Joe's Mommy dies then who is going to be his Mommy? Is Joe going to get a new Mommy?"
Followed by a string of unintelligible rambling verklemptedness.
Four years old just may be my favorite.
"Mom! I want some juice!"
"You want some juice what?"