You're Not the Boss of Me

As they get older, JED are more independent in some ways. They are able to come home on the bus or train by themselves and they are able to navigate the neighbourhood quite effectively on their own. But at the same time, they're also a bit needy and a pain in the neck. Because they are older, sometimes, when Packrat and I have a bit of time at night, we tell them to get themselves to bed so that "mommy and papa can go out".

Last night was one such night. We'd had dinner with them and had warned them then that we would be slipping out for a bit after they went to bed. Then came the imperious questioning.

Jordan: Where are you going?
Me: We're going to get a foot massage.
Jordan: How long will that take?
Me: One hour.
Jordan: What time is your appointment?
Me: 8.40 pm.
Jordan: So, we should expect you back by 10pm?
Me: dots.

Muffin chimes in.
Muffin: Don't stop anywhere for a rest ok?
Me: What?
Muffin: The other night, you said you were going to the bank and it was 10 minutes. You came back an hour later.
Papa: That's because we stopped for a drink.
Muffin: Yes. You need to come back immediately. You can't stay out for a rest at a restaurant for a drink.
Papa: dots.

So, apparently, we grew up, fought the restrictions in our parents' homes and struck out on our own, became parents in our own right, only to now be answerable to our nazi-kids.

All we can say to them is "wait till you start dating, young lads..." Ten fold. Million fold.