I discovered yesterday that sarcasm, and my use of it, does not translate well for those in the preschool world.
We were at my parents for an afternoon visit and my mom, god love her, decided that it would be a fantastic idea to bake an Italian Ricotta cake with Matteo.
Well 45 minutes into the baking process…the previously beaten eggs were missing, the ricotta was half eaten, the grated lemon peel was emerged in a mixture of eggs shells and honey and flour covered every inch of open kitchen space.
My mom looked at me and finally admitted defeat, ‘Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all..’
I looked over at Matteo and told him “That’s it my little one, you are fired as Nonna’s sous chef…baking time is officially over. I’m going to get the vacuum and suck you and all this flour up into the hose.”
Well didn’t that unleash a scream heard all over the neighbourhood…”No mommy, I don’t want to be sucked into the machine…please mommy….that makes me scared….don’t get the vacuum.’
And then the floodgate of tears…”Please Nonna save me, save me from the vacuum.”
After my mom calmed him down with hugs and kisses, she told him that everything was OK because Mommy was only joking about the vacuum.
Matteo wiping his eyes, looked over to me and said…”Mommy you are very bad, bad, bad. Your joke is not funny. You get a time out and you’re fired as my mommy for the rest of the day.”
Talk about being put in your place by an almost 3 year old.