When I was growing up, my mother had a little bird. We never saw the stupid thing but lemmie tell ya, it had a big mouth. We couldn’t do ANYTHING without little birdie telling on us. As we grew up, we heard less and less of it until we had children of our own. Then we received our own little birdies. Our mother (now Nana) kept hers too so my poor kid, aka the first grandchild, got a double dose.
TheKid is twelve so I haven’t pulled out the “A little birdie told me” in awhile.
Last night I was standing in the kitchen making meatballs. TheKid was sitting at the dining room table directly behind me doing homework. The other two were just around the corner in the living room playing video games. I’m wrist deep in raw meat and seasonings when I hear the 6 year old start whining and fussing at his brother.
“LilBit – if you’re going to be grouchy & fussy at your brother, you’re not going to get to play, understand?” I called out
He huffed. Loudly.
“And huffing at me is just going to get you in trouble young man.”
I waited 3-5 seconds then followed up with “And so will rolling your eyes!”
The living room went silent – then the whispering started up furiously. I turned to glance at TheKid and share a laugh only to find him staring at me in shock.
“You didn’t even look at him! How did you know?”
I grinned. “Remember my little birdie?”
He sighed deeply as he turned back around shaking his head. I waited for a declaration of how he’s TWELVE and NOT stupid… Instead I hear him mutter “I HATE that stupid bird.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
