Under the influence

I've written before, about the ways in which our children copy our actions. How we see our mannerisms reflected in our children, more often than not in a comical manner. Certainly, my children have a knack of imitating me in a way which highlights my foibles in a less-than-flattering light. But because they're little and sweet, it's funny. To my husband, at any rate.

Every now and then, I see one of my children attempt to replicate my attempts at parenting. Sometimes it's a bit scary. And other times, like this morning, it fills my heart with hope that I have not yet condemned them to a life of expensive therapy.

The kids were sitting on the couch this morning, watching Bananas in Pyjamas while I put my shoes on, put the dogs outside, and tried to remember what I had forgotten (always a futile task). I noticed Maisie was busy with her baby doll, and stopped to watch her for a minute. She lifted her jumper up, put the doll's face to her belly button, and sat very still. When the 'baby' had finished feeding, she gently kissed it on the face and walked towards her little doll's pram. By this point I was just about clutching my heart and sobbing at the sight of my smallest chicken breastfeeding her doll and smothering it with love. Isn't that just the sweetest thing ever?

Then, whilst trying to put her baby in the stroller, she started stumbling sideways (ok, who gave the Mouse beer for brekkie?). Determined to get her doll in the pram, she started jamming it in the seat, all the while falling this way and that, arms flailing wildly. When she failed to secure her baby in the pram, Maisie began to scream and shout at her child for it's shortcomings. Clearly, it was not behaving itself. She then threw it on the floor and huffed away in her cuter-than-cute squeaking pink shoes. By now, any child psychologist worth their salt could probably surmise that I was a drunkard who abuses my children for my own mistakes.

Once we were safely ensconced in the family wagon, I turned the radio (as I always do) to Gold 104. It's the only station I can trust to have kid-friendly music and chat on the school run (let's just say my old favourites of Nova and Triple M tried to teach my kids some naughty words....and Triple J doesn't really cut the mustard with the under-5 set). We tootled over the railway line, through the shopping centre, and before the windows had even de-fogged properly, Phoebe shushed Jack sharply. "Shoosh Jackie! It's Dee Dee's dirt alert!!"

I'm really hoping that my three year old daughter doesn't realise that at 8:20am, Dee Dee on Gold 104 spills some pretty lame showbiz gossip. I'm really, really hoping that she just likes and remembers the funny name for the radio segment. And I'm really, really, really hoping that she just thinks it's funny because more often than not, Mummy has a good laugh. Whatever Phoebe knows about Dee Dee's dirt alert, she has learned from me. Which reminded me that we are entering the ages when my kids will actually retain some of the words and information they hear on telly and radio. So it's probably a good thing I don't watch Sex and the City or Grey's Anatomy during the day time anymore.

So anyway, immediately after the dirt alert, the boppy sounds of "Video Killed The Radio Star" filled our car. Maisie clapped and nodded her head; Phoebe swayed in her seat; and Jack sang the words. I mean, like all of the words of the chorus. And sang the tune. To my knowledge, my five year old son had heard that song only once before, again in my car on the way to school, when I sang gaily (and out of tune), and told the kids it was one of my favourites. I just hadn't realised until this morning that I had been unwittingly brainwashing my kids into being 80's pop freaks. Just like me!

All of this occurred before 8:30 this morning, which scared me somewhat. You see, I reckon I've taken care of the 'big' things pretty well - I don't swear in front of the kids, they've got a fairly good idea of what constitutes good (or acceptable, at least) behaviour, and we've covered the concept of 'everyday' and 'sometimes' foods. But it's the finer details that are going to trip me up, I reckon.

They're noticing so many tiny details and remembering so many habits and mannerisms of mine, it's time I pulled my socks up. Seriously. Maisie has taken to holding any object that remotely resembles a mobile phone up to her ear, and walks around the house, jabbering away and then throwing her head back in an open-mouthed guffaw. I don't do that. I don't. Do I?

I guess I just need to make sure I make "good choices" for my behaviour, just as I am always asking my kids to do. I'll sit nicely at the table (and not read New Idea as I eat). I won't shout at terrible drivers who get in my way (not out loud, anyway). I'll try and listen to music other than anthems of the 80's (but I won't like it.) I'll eat all my vegies at dinner time (and not follow them with ice cream...well, not every night.) I will share my toys...oh who am I kidding. I always have to share Daddy. And if anybody tells me to go to bed at 7pm, and to go straight to sleep, I promise I will. Straight away. That's one rule I wouldn't have a problem with!