Why do I persist on forgetting that the key to accomplishing any large task, especially when you have small children, is to work on them a little at a time? Hell, I'd go so far as to say it's the key to accomplishing small tasks too, because the little boogers always need rescuing from sisters who are attempting to inflate them with bicycle pumps, or someone to get them another glass of juice-not-milk-no-no-no-NOT-MILK-fine-if-it's-all-I'm-going-to-get-milk, or someone to go get their bike from the police station because they forgot the combination and the guy at the Y shooed off the little fuckers who were trying to steal it before snipping the lock and sending it away with the cops. And yet, every damn day I forget this and wake up in a tizzy wondering how in the heck I'm going to finish putting-stuff-away-caulk-the-windows-put-up-the-drapes-make-pants-for-the-Bean-that-don't-fall-off-get-the-"cooking once a week"-thing-going-etc-etc-etc-etc.
Maybe it's because I like to start a thing and finish a thing. I enjoy finishing a task. When I'm interrupted, by the very children I may have been performing the task for, I get Very Annoyed. It's silly and it's stoopid and I wonder how long it is going to take me to learn to take baby steps. I have to believe you can teach an old dog new tricks. Probly, the truth is I've got PMS and I just need to get over myself.
On another note, imagine that you fastidiously keep your real world name off the internet because you've gotten some gruesome hate mail before, and it's shaken your faith in your fellow man. Then imagine that on the one video you have on You Tube, a video of your littlest baby, you receive the comment "I know where you live, (Real Name Here)" You look at the user name and you don't recognize it. The choice of favorited videos makes you think it's a teen aged boy, but the age given is 33. You double check all the profiles you can think of, but your given name isn't on any of them. You send a polite email asking the person if you know them, but inside you're dying to think that some creep would post this on a video of your baby. Your baby!
Then your son gets home and, thinking it might be one of his friends, you ask him if he recognizes the user name.
"Oh yeah, that's mine."
So you explain in graphic detail how scared he made you feel, and explain why it was STOOPID, and why it isn't funny, and why you don't use someone's real name online, and why he can go wash all the dishes without a single tiny thought of a complaint whilst you rest on your laurels and contemplate why a boy as smart as he is does dumb shit like this.
Firmly believing he'll learn to use his powers for good, and wishing her daughter wouldn't try to drink milk with a spoon,