Remember when you were a kid and you would ask, say, your mum if you could, for example, go and flatten pennies under the (in retrospect) incredibly dangerous lift bridge at the dry docks with your friends and she, with what I can now see was perfectly good reason, would say “absolutely not” and you would sulk away complaining that it was NOT FAIR? Then, after making sure that your dad was out of earshot and had not had sufficient time to have talked to your mum yet, you would ever so slyly (at least in your ten year old mind) ask him the same thing and when he, logically, said “no” you would whine “but Mum said I could”, to which he`d reply “go on then” and then you`d run off with your friend thinking that you had really pulled one over on them and you were never going to be found out. Do you remember these days? This kind of high level manipulation started at what? 8 years old, maybe? 9? Not 3 though, right? We weren`t pulling these stunts at 3, were we? Mum?
So I was more than a little surprised when Andrew asked, after returning from a walk with Thomas, if I had told Thomas that he was allowed to step on plants? Step on plants? Um, no, I assure you I did not tell our son that he was allowed to step on plants. Apparently, when Andrew nixed the idea, the little son of a gun pulled the old “but Mum lets me”. Whaaaaa? This is too soon for this! Too soon!
We both marvelled at the fact that we hadn`t anticipated that we would already have to be forming a united front and running all our parenting decisions by each other first.
Andrew left the kitchen only to return a minute later to say: “So just be clear here, I am a definite NO on stepping on plants.”