No matter how much TV I sit him in front of, no matter how many video games I force him to play, I can’t seem to ruin Elijah’s memory. The kid has a mind like a steel trap.
And he uses it to bust me constantly. Granted, a lot of my parenting skills involve pushing requests off to eternity with the hopes they’ll forget them. Can we go to Chuck E Cheese? Yeah, sure. Next week. Can we go get a Star Wars guy from Target? Not today, but maybe tomorrow. Or the next day.
Anymore, 80% of Eli’s conversations with me start with, “Daddy, remember when you said…”
And then he’ll remember that time I told him I would add Star Wars Angry Birds onto the Poop Kindle. Or he’ll remember that time I told him I’d buy him Legos if he’d stop screaming in the car. Or he’ll remember that time I told him I’d teach him to ride without training wheels in February.
Most of the requests I can push off to manana…manana…manana. And no, I do not know how to type an n with the little squiggle over the top. And no, I do not know what the little squiggle over the top means.
But I usually box myself into a corner pretty fast. I tend to backload all requests to Saturday, which ends up being 24 hours of pink donuts with sprinkles, trips to the comic books store and bowel abusing trips to 5 Guys.
But ask the kid what he did at school three hours earlier?
“I can’t remember.”