In high school I took a computer programming class. It was my first and last splash in the water of 1s and 0s. As best I recall, there was DOS, two floppy disks to boot the computer, and me yelling at the screen. I was forced to raise my voice because 1) I’m not exactly a woman who lists patience as one of her virtues and 2) the computer was completely unreasonable. It did EXACTLY what you told it to do, not what you obviously meant.
On particularly rough days, living with Monkey Boy is a cross between living with a domestic terrorist and programming a computer. You cannot negotiate with a completely unreasonable 3-year-old who does EXACTLY what he hears you say. This weekend, he had a hard time with his listener. It’s programmed not to hear my voice when I use words like,”stop!” “no!” and “walk!” He has bat-like ears when I’m talking about “cookies,” “cake” or “Herbie.” For example:
Me: For the 100th time, NO. Running. In. The House.
Monkey Boy: Jumping?!
Katie Kat (as he hops down the hall past her room): What’s he doing?
Me (defeated): Not. Running.