Parenting Dylan

Oh the things I've learned being a parent. Oh the amount of things I have yet to learn. Yesterday my mom came to the house to watch my kids while I went to the temple to do baptisms for the dead with the young women. When I got back, my mom and I were sitting on the couch talking while Dylan and Preston played outside with Tony (their cousin). Dylan came in and tried to bring Preston in the house and tell him to stay. Lately the sibling rivalry between those two is making me crazy. Preston was not happy! He wanted to play too. I gave the little reminder, gently but firmly saying, "Dylan." Here's how the rest of the conversation went.

M: Let Preston play with you too.

D (in a western voice with his twine lasso looped over his shoulder): But ma'am. This here's a bandit and I've got to put him in prison, ya see.

M (playing along): Sir, he's your brother and cowboys are the best kind of brothers.

D: No ma'am. I'm sorry. He's a bandit. I'm the sheriff and he has to obey the law.

M: Dylan.

D: Good day ma'am (tipping his hat at me as he shuts the door).

M: Dylan (more stern voice).

D: He needs to be in prison.

M: I'm going to put you in prison up in your room if you can't play and include Preston.

D: Cowboys can't be put in prison. I'll just escape to Mexico.

M: Dylan

D: Okay, ma'am. But I would escape to Mexico. That's what cowboys do and I'm a real cowboy. I will let him out of prison now. He's done his time. (tips his hat and leaves with Preston following behind him).

He no sooner shut the door than my mom busts up laughing. "He really stays in character, doesn't he? It was all I could do not to laugh during your serious parenting moment," she said. Yeah, I know. Half the time I have to restrain myself too. They're all different and there is a major learning curve with parenting, but Dylan. Well, Dylan is Dylan. That's all there is to it.