Backchat...and the moon

Well no wonder. The full moon has arrived, done it's work, and is (boy I hope so) waning it's way to normalcy.

I'll admit: I've been a tad snarky. A wee bit touchy. Perhaps, maybe (though I highly doubt it) a bit on the bitchy side. I suppose I could use the jaw as an excuse, but after nearly 6 months, even that excuse wears thin.

Fox?

OMG.

The snotty attitude, the backchat, for lack of a better word, the sheer sass and disrespect out of that child's mouth may lead him to missing out on his 9th birthday. Hell. He may even miss school.

I've had it up to here with the never ending I need to repeat the following sentences:

"Stop touching EVERY THING. You are not a baby, you are not three."

"Get your hands off the grocery store shelves...end cap cans....the produce."

"Get your hands out of your mouth, off your feet (God help me here) the back of the chairs, sofa, kitchen counters"

'Do not leave your bike or scooter BLOCKING THE GARAGE DOOR SO IT WON'T CLOSE - how old ARE you anyway?"

"Why do I need to repeat this EVERY FREAKING DAY?!?!?"

"Do NOT sit on top of me in bed. I am not your personal pillow."

'STOP TOUCHING EVERYTHING."

Really, I'm tired of hearing it - hell, I'm tired of saying it! - and yet it continues. I've never once slapped my child - but wow, this past week? My palms have itched to land him into the following week like we were raised. Remember that? Our parent's gave us That Look, all disgusting behavior ceased. Immediately.

I'd think it was just my mother; nope. Pretty universal, That Look.

Now? That Look brings out the absolute beast in him. A taunt, really. As though I've thrown down the gauntlet, my leather gloves having slapped against my breeches, a duel on Main Street High Noon a-comin'. Here I'd thought we'd finally settled into the New Sheriff In Town mentality - for a while there, he was so polite I'd oft wondered if he been replaced with a robot. Though his inflection, empathy for others, good nature and all around fun guy again was fabulous to see.

Yeah...............in case you were wondering?

That's so not on display today.

He'd love to go to the beach: I asked him to help put away groceries. It's. Not. Hard.

Open fridge. Put in all items that remain cold.

A monkey can do it. We've all seen a monkey do it.

He left out three quarters of the cold items, only to tell me he wasn't sure if they went in the fridge. Really? How often do you find BACON IN THE PANTRY?!

What, I keep frozen waffles on the counter?

Part of me (a BIG part, I'll be honest) wants to take him to the beach, so he may go - as in - out of my hair. The other part, the Mom part, would rather find some detestable chores for him to do, with his mouth closed.

That way, he can not only touch things with my permission, but do something positive with all that need to feel things.

With my luck?

He'd clean out the toilet, touching every smarmy, germ-covered bit of it, only to then feel up his feet, and stick his hands in his mouth.

Jesus.

The beach is looking better all the time.