The Wooden Spoon

When we were little and in trouble.....big trouble.....there was one sound that always made us stop, stand up tall and shut the heck up.

It was the sound of the kitchen drawer being pulled open by one of our parents. The dreaded drawer that housed The Wooden Spoon. I don't think that the spoon was ever actually used on any of us but, oh boy, just the threat of it scared the crap out of me.

These days, if I were angry enough to whip open the wooden spoon drawer, my kids would stop whining/stomping around/yelling long enough to ask if I was making a snack that required the spoon. Oh, that's right kids. I'll bake you something special. How about Cranky Cake? Moody Muffins? Maybe Cookies for Crybabies? Or I'm-gonna-sell-you-to-the-gypsies-pudding....

I have been told (recently and often) that I am the Strictest Mother Ever. That same child told me that I treat him like a baby. (Oops, did I just give away which child it was??) Can you believe how over protective I am? He actually has to phone me to let me know where he is when he's out hanging with his friends. A couple of weeks ago, after a relentless interrogation about why I make him call home, I finally snapped. I was done talking. I was done listening. And I was done with his attitude. So I sent him to his room.

Halfway up the stairs, he stopped, leaned over the bannister and said, with some serious tone, "Oh, when I get to my room do you want me to call you so that you know I'm safe?"

Argh. How times have changed.

Now, if you don't mind, I've got some baking to do.