Growing up, my sister and I loved to joke that my brother turned out as great as he did because he had three mothers- my mom, Red and me. My brother is 7 years younger then me and 5 years younger then my sister so we were always throwing in our two cents when it came to keeping my brother in line, what he should or shouldn’t be able to do and so on. We thought we were being helpful. We were wrong.
How do I know we were wrong? Because all of a sudden, I have a Monday morning quarter back analyzing all my parenting decisions and it’s flat out maddening.
Scorch is trying to add on additional punishments for the Bean, telling on her constantly, reminding me that “No, Mom- her time out should be 4 minutes, not 2 because she’s 4.” It doesn’t stop. My favorite is when he tells me “last time Bean did that, you did X. This time you did Y. I think X worked better.” Oh you do, do you?! I swear the phrase, “I’m am the parent, not you.” has come out of my mouth at least a million times over the past few weeks.
I love that kid, but I told him he’s not allowed to give me parenting advice until he stops finding his ability to make farting noises with him arms so hilarious. Until then, he can stuff it.