Last night I attended my weekly Positive Parenting class. Before I left CJ asked me where I was going.

"To learn to be a better mommy!" I cheerfully replied.

I got home in time to go in his room and kiss him good night. He asked me what I learned in my class.

I told him I learned that I need to be more patient and more cheerful and to be a good example. To which he replied,

"Yeah, like stop yelling at me so I can stop yelling back at you? And not to say (using his scariest growliest voice), 'CJ!. GET. DOWN. HERE. NOW!' and instead say (using his sweetest, sing-songy voice), 'Ceeeeee jaaaaaay. Please come heeeerrrrre.'"

Exactly. Sort of. Then he said, "And you're learning just to say 'good job CJ!' when I do something naughty instead of getting mad?"

This went on and on. He was doing an excellent job of pointing out all the wrong things I do while mothering him.

And just when I was feeling like this kid knows me all too well, he asked the most important questions of all: "Did you have a recycle bin in your class room? A garbage can? What color were they?"