Strong-arm parenting is so 1950s

Look how strong I am, Dad!

I learned a while ago that this particular sentence warrants immediate attention.  Regardless of the tie-score- and-under-a-minute-to-play of one's March Madness bracket busting game.  Regardless of the food burning on the stove.  Or phone ringing or bathroom beckoning.  If you here this sentence, as the Parent of a 5-year old Boy, you pay attention. 

This particular time, yesterday, the Boy had managed to lift a wooden end table and was holding it upside-down over his head.  Standing on the couch.  His biceps were quivering.

Wow, that's pretty strong, I said in as even a tone as I could muster while very nonchalantly RACING over to him to save him from imminent blood-letting.  I took the table from his hands, much to his chagrin. 

I wanted to put it down myself, he harrumphed. 

Sorry, Boy, it was too big, it would've crashed.

No it wouldn't.

You don't know that.  You don't know that it wouldn't have crashed.

Yes I do know it.  I know everything.

Everything?

Everything!  You don't have to tell me anything else ever again!  I know everything!

And with this proclamation, we've apparently entered the teenage years.  He knows everything now, my job is done!  I'd always heard that you learn everything you need to know in kindergarten, which he doesn't start until fall. 

He's so advanced. 

Stomping from the room, he also added I'll worry about me, you worry about you.  For one incredibly tempting moment, I thought about saying "see ya in a couple hours then" and leaving in the van.

I didn't.

Speaking of stomping, I still don't have my car back from the mechanic yet.  Two weeks ago today I dropped that blessed car off to fix an electrical problem.  A week ago today, I wrote that I thought it would be done, and then the mechanic called to say it was done.  Before I could leave my house to walk there and pick it up, they'd called again to let me know they couldn't get it started.  Again.  Three (or more) attempted solutions later, they still cannot figure out what's causing it to short out.  Other than being a 17 year old Oldsmobile, I don't know what it could be either, so there it sits. 

If I was strong enough to lift it over my head, I'd drop it in a ravine.

Sigh.