Inspired by an impromptu babysitting escapade with Gruff and Bravo.

Dear Gruff,
Why do you take so long when the movie you want to watch is paused downstairs and there are only ten minutes left in it? I’ve seen you sprint full tilt across a classroom for the express purpose of knocking down someone else’s Lego tower out of sheer antagonistic mischief, and yet, when it comes to your favorite movie you suddenly develop some strange physical malady in which you can only do the spider walk from the Excorcist at roughly the pace of a two toed sloth who just shot heroin on your way back downstairs to see the ending of Aladdin?
Is it because you realize that the end of the movie means bedtime?
And if that is the case, why can you anticipate bedtime 45 minutes in advance of the actual event, but you ask me “what happens next” every few seconds in regards to a movie that you have see more times in the past week than I have seen in my entire adult life? Why is bedtime so easy to visualize, whereas the genie singing again causes an extreme mental block?
Why do you tell me all night that you are not allowed to have milk when you go to bed because you spilled it all over the bed and Mommy says you can only have water, and then act shocked when I refuse your request for milk at bedtime?
Why do you tell me after said milk incident that I can’t be your babysitter anymore and that you don’t like me only to start calling me to get you water two minutes after ejecting me from your bedroom?

And to all of you adults out there in Blogland, why is it that we go out of our way to equip these creatures we call children with the means to express themselves with language? They are so much more agreeable when all they know how to do is babble and baby-sign the word for “more.”