Nature, Nurture or Neurosis

How much of your child's questionable behavior can you blame on DNA?  Yes, their hair color, eye color, height - we already know all that hereditary crap.  But what about bossy behavior?  Sensitivity?  Humor? Galton, Darwin and even Shakespeare have their opinions about empiricism/behaviorism.  Clearly all the undesirable traits exhibited in my children's behavior can be attributed to my husband.  Because, I am the picture of perfection.  What?  I am too. Whatever.  Haters gonna hate.

Would my children be smart asses if they were taken from my home and placed in a convent?  I'm guessing not so much.  But, think about how lame this blog would be.

Today was a day just like any other day. My children were polite.  They didn't argue, cry or embarrass me publicly. Not once did someone say "Well, then, you obviously DON'T LOVE ME!!!!"  or "That's it - you are no longer my family!"  They consumed all of their food without a single "Dis is goss. Me are not eatin dis." or "Yeah, dinner made me throw up in my mouth a little".    They went to bed without yelling at the top of the stairs for a "dwink" for two hours or how it's not fair that the other gets to stay up "Wicked late and yell at the top of the stairs when I have to go to bed.".  Tomorrow we will get up and the children will get ready for school, dressed like Gap models with sparkling brushed teeth and finely coiffed hair. Now I must sign off to get my 11 hours of uninterrupted beauty sleep. Because my life is Just. That. Perfect.

BOOOOORRRRRING!  Sure, my hair would be much thicker and less gray as a result.  Maybe I would have less Louis Vuitton under my eyes and more twinkle in my step.  Perhaps I could teeter around on platform Jimmy Choos and carry a teacup Yorkie in my purse.  Yeah...Um...boring...Anyway...

Blonde hair: Husband
Blue eyes: Both of us
Stature: Both of us
Type A personality: Both of us
Love of Languages: Me
Love of Reading: Me
Love of all things dirt bikes: Husband
Smart ass humor: Both of us
Insatiable Sweet Tooth: Me all day long.

Some nature.  Some nurture.  All "us". So, who do I blame for this:

Emmeline (screeching at the top of her lungs): MOOOOOOOOOMY! Open dis gate up for me.
Me: Excuse me? That's not how we talk to Mommy. What do we say when we need someone's help?
Emmeline: Open dis damn gate up now.  Peas.
Me: (Well, she got it half right....)

Or for the 7,643,278 times a day Lena cries about: Everything. Nothing. Something. One Fish. Two Fish. Red Fish. Blue Fish. 

Neither of us do those things.

The following words are spoken by me no less than a fucktillion times a day: "We do NOT speak to people like that.  That is rude and inappropriate."  (Ok, I am blaming that behavior on my husband....)

But, how many times a day can I say:

"Stop picking your nose! That's why it's bleeding!  You have picked out a piece of your frontal lobe! You're one pick from performing a self-lobotomy!"

"What is that in your mouth?  Oh, God.  Spit that out RIGHT NOW. Where did you even get that snail?"

"No, we do NOT go potty outside.  We are humans. Yes, I know the doggy does - but he is an ANIMAL!" 

"Really, girls?  We wear pants in this house.  And underpants...usually.  Now, where are yours?  What do you mean "Me don't know?'"

"For the love of God. I cannot believe I just caught you putting chap stick on your butt. Go throw that away because....NO DON'T USE IT ON YOUR LIPS NOW!  EWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEWEW!"

"What did you paint the potty with?  What do you mean 'Me didn't do it.' You're the only other one home."

None of these things are things my husband or I do. Ever.  (Unless my husband has a secret side to him, which I'm willing to bet against.)  Not nature.  Not nurture.  That only leaves: Neurosis. 

Good thing I've already started saving for the Future College/Major Therapy fund.   Looks like I'm going to need it.

 

Hmm. Me do NOT know how dat got der.  Dat is weird.