I wonder how many of the things I say to Milo and Belle will come back to bite me in the tush a few years from now. How much they’ll use against me. Because the backlash? It is already, to a certain extent, starting. And it’s not pretty.

Here’s an example: my two kids have a tendency to disagree. (I know, you’re shocked.) They fight and screech and fume. And when they don’t have anything worthwhile to argue about, such as Milo shoving one of Belle’s Polly Pockets into his mouth, they start in with the “Don’t Breath!” “Don’t talk.” “Don’t look at me!!”

Lately I’ve explained to Belle that she can’t control anyone except herself. That asking Milo not to glance in her direction is futile. But, at the tender age of four-and-a-half, she’s already turned this around on me. So now if I gently suggest she go potty before we leave for the park, she’ll shriek, “You don’t control me!”

Yeah. That wasn’t exactly what I meant. But it’s true, I suppose.

At the same time, Milo has mastered the art of translating everything I say into very literal terms, and then holding me to it. I, for example, mumble something about possibly going to the zoo tomorrow. Possibly. Then tomorrow comes and I’m crushed with errands and meals and work so we don’t get there. And now I’m faced with a conversation like this:

Me:  “Sorry, bud. Hopefully Friday.”

Milo: “But you said today.”

Me (fumbling): “Well….I was thinking aloud.”

Milo: “But you SAID today.”

How do I teach a six-year-old the finer points of nuanced communication?

In my mind, of course, I’m fast-forwarding ten years, to a time when I’m admonishing Belle for wearing that too short skirt and she’s slamming doors and screaming that I don’t control her. Or to the careless day when I offer Milo the possibility of using the car Friday night, only to have to reneg, but watch him take it anyway, yelling out the window as he squeals from the driveway that I SAID he could have it.

Yeah, well, I’ve said a lot of things. Hopefully most of them will be forgotten by the year 2019.