You never know when you teach your child a new trick how or whether later in life they will come back and use that very thing against you, perhaps to toruture you or prove you wrong; perhaps just to humiliate you in public.

For example, when TeenHer was small I, like most alterna-parents I knew, taught my child to question authority, to ask for proof, to never take someone’s word for something just because they were older than her.

You can see where that got me.

When ToddlerA was first learning to walk and interact with others, my husband thought wouldn’t it be cute if we hide from mommy! Especially at bedtime! They would hide behind doors, and on the other side of the bed, and under blankets. It was an adorable game, one that he invented to play with her in the afternoons- he’d hide under a pillow and wait for her to catch him, and he’d pop up and cry “you found me!” while she squealed with delight. When papa would come, sometimes he’d find her sitting quietly under a chair, or sometimes just on the couch but with a T shirt over her face.

Adorable, right? Think again.

Scene: It’s naptime. A two year old knows this, but part of naptime is putting on training pants. (oh by the way! Internet! My child is almost out of diapers!) Training pants, for some reason, invoke the Hiding game.

No amount of coaxing, threats, or stern looks are effective at this moment, the turning point of the whole day sometimes, the moment where the 2 year old crawls to the upper right hand corner of a king sized bed, positions herself in her very best hiding form, face down with a pillow over her head, naked butt in the air. The giggling usually gives her position away. To all the blind people in the house, anyway. Now, I know you’re thinking wtf? Just walk around the side of the bed and get her, you freak. Except. We’ve pushed her (useless) crib up against the side of the bed, for “extra space” (see: project mojo), and she knows that huddled in the corner she holds a position that is only reachable by her (very pregnant and by this time pissy) mother crawling – up the bed, into the corner.

Would you be surprised to hear that sometimes the child is pulled from her position by one foot (ok, dragged) down the bed and into the training pants? This does not deter her; every day we play the same maddening game. This one is almost as fun as the one where when she gets out of the bathtub she must be wrapped in a towel and placed gingerly on the couch; she cannot walk to the couch, folks. She must be carried, for the first few moments after a bath make a child so very weak. Explain to me how I’ll keep up THAT game for the next 89 days.

That’s right, I’m in the double digits now. 89 days. 89 days to get the walls framed, wiring, insulation and drywall hung upstairs. Who wants to help? We have (some of) the money; we just don’t have the people. No one passes muster with my Dad but the people he picks and they only work weekends, for some reason. How many weekends are in 89 days?

Anyway. Last night I was mulling over the little bits we’ve taught the child. Here are a few that I’m still proud of, even though one day I’m sure we’ll get a Talking To from one set of grandparents or another.

Farts are funny! They’re called pooter-tooters (thanks Melanie!) and each time you let one go, you’ve got to squeal “pooter tooter!” through peals of laughter.

Burps are almost as funny as farts, and the loudest ones are the best.

When you have to pee, you must scream “run! Run run!” while galloping down the hallway. When successful, cry “I DID IT!” and ask for a hug.

Straws are for blowing bubbles in drinks

When you don’t want to do something right away, all you have to say is “I’m working right now! In a minute!”