Be careful. I must say this 20 times a day and I still have kids with cuts, scratches and bruises; kids who "drive" over each other's body parts with ride-on toys and other wheeled contraptions; one kid who bumps her head on the underside of the table daily; one kid who falls off his chair at least once a day; one kid who routinely knocks his little sister over; kids who spill snacks and meals on the floor; kids who manage to spill drinks from sippy cups and snacks from bowls with a snack trap lid; a dog who is routinely mauled and harassed by the children; and on and on and on. In fact, think of the most benign and seemingly safe activity, like walking on a flat surface, and my children have hurt themselves doing it. They're obviously not going to heed my advice.
Shhhh, be quiet, you're being too loud or any variation of this sentiment often sends me running for the Tylenol or the earplugs or the bathroom with a stash of chocolate and Diet Coke. I don't know why I bother saying this. Children have no volume control. Well, that's not totally true. They can modulate up, but never down. I've tried demonstrating my most excellent whispering technique to my 3 year old son to blank stares and even louder, more high pitched tones. I get a kick out of my husband who, at least once during dinner every night, tells our son "We don't like loud noises." This from the man who is obsessed with digital Dolby 5.1 surround sound or whatever it's called. On the inside, I'm thinking, "Then why the hell did we have kids? And why the hell do I have to endure a 20 minute sound check on the stereo system before watching a movie?"
Come here. They almost never comply, at least not on my time table. This reminds me of a scene from the Cosby Show where Cosby is trying to get Vanessa and Rudy to come to him: "Come here... Come HEEERE. Here, here, here. You see, there is there, and this is here. Come HERE."
Why did you do that? Once I asked Danny why he peed his pants. His answer? Eight. It'll be a while before he understands the word why.
How many times do I have to tell you ... ? One day, when they have some concept of numbers, they'll give me a smart answer. For now, I just get blank stares. The answer really is ten times a day for the next 20 years.
I'm not going to tell you again. Um, of course, I am. I'm going to be repeating myself ad nauseum for the next 20 years.
It's a good thing that my life doesn't have a word limit or I'd be way over by now. When the kids are grown and out of the house, I'm going to join a monastery and take a vow of silence for a year.