Dear Oprah,

I know since you haven’t had children, that you have never had the great honor and fun of irritating your kids by working out your version of cool.  Let me tell you, it’s almost worth all the parenting b.s. to have those moments.

Mikey, god love him, is not real sharp with sarcasm.  He’s amusing, and we laugh a lot at his younger brother, but as a child of two of the most sarcastic humans in existence, you’d think that he would get it.   I guess it is the case where the parent’s cried wolf too many times and now he’s not sure if we really are sending him to an orphanage when we threaten him with it for no reason.  Silly boy.

Pierce though, is pretty clever.  Today he came into the kitchen and asked me if he could play his video game now (after Mikey had just started his turn once his homework was finished.)  I told him “No way, you played while Mikey was at school, and now he gets too.”  Pierce responds, “No Mikey doesn’t get to play—he played all day while I was at school.”  Sunday school is about as much education as he gets at this point and it’s Tuesday.  I guess he’s also gotten some schooling in sarcasm, because he has learned it very well.

Remember how I told you that he and Mikey love Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock and Roll?”  Well, after one of his endless demands to hear it in the car, I found it on my iPod and played it.  Singing along in my best rocker chic voice, I was informed from the back seat not to sing.  Naturally, I sang louder, but I got emphatic boos and hisses from behind me.  I looked at Pierce in the rear view mirror and he smirked and reiterated “not to sing.”  I started lip syncing because that’s how everyone rolls these days and when I glanced back in the mirror again, I see a small but serious hand held up in the “stop” gesture accompanied by one more stern command not to do that either.  So I stopped…I mean that last look from him scared me straight until Joan gets to the part between verses where she growls a screechy meow, then I couldn’t help myself.  I had to lip sync that—I mean YOU try not to—it’s like making your knee not jerk when the doctor hits it with a reflex hammer.  It’s really almost impossible.  I try to refrain from singing the refrain because I don’t want to bring down his wrath, but sometimes I sing softly to myself all the while checking to mirror to see if I am busted.  Sometimes he smiles slightly like he’s on to me, but he’s going to let it go this time because he is in a good mood.

Disappointed tidings,