How many times do I have to tell you?

I think every parent goes through it. Kids just don't listen. They don't listen. You yell. Then they adjust and don't hear it until you yell it. Then you sound like you're screaming at them. You're standing right behind them telling them to do something. They completely ignore you and continue doing what they're doing, which is something that you don't want them to do! It's one of the most frustrating things about being a parent.

My Mom can certainly relate to this topic because, while you may find this very hard to believe, was a kid that had trouble hearing what my parents said to me. She'd come down and complain about our room about what a disgrace it was and how it should be condemned, we'd feel bad and then we'd start cleaning it. After a while, Bill and I noticed that it was the same speech, so she'd come down and we'd chime in with "room is a disgrace" and "it should be condemned." My Mom would either ignore it or try not to laugh. Thankfully, she had a sense of humor about it and I lived to see more days to be a smart ass about it.

Where we have a hard time getting Julia to listen is when we try to get her in bed. She goofs around and generally does everything that she can to prolong to process. The nighttime ritual involves me walking her upstairs to the bathroom where she's takes a vitamin, takes a chewable asthma medicine, a liquid allergy medicine, brushes her teeth, rinses with water and washes her hands.

I'll give her the medicines and the vitamin, leave to grab something with a message to "Take you medicine" and come back and she's busy pulling the gummi vitamin apart and jamming the chewable tablet into the gummi vitamin.

I prompt her, "Take your medicine."

She continues merging the two objects into a super medicine.

"Take you medicine."

Still no progress.

"Take you MEDICINE!" I exclaim.

"Fine!" Julia finally says.

I help her brush her teeth and the same results happen with the rinsing and the washing of the hands. I'll turn on the water, hand her a cup and tell her to "Wash your hands and rinse."

I'll leave to grab her Teddy or grab something that I'm going to need later, come back and she's busy making a fountain with two little cups and the faucet. Julia just stands there with me behind her filling up one into the other and watching the results go down the drain.

"Rinse and wash your hands." I prod her.

She continues with the makeshift fountain.

"Rinse and wash your hands." I prod her again.

Still with the fountain action.

"Rinse and wash your HANDS!" I exclaim finally. "Why do I always have to tell you these things three times?"

"I don't know. Jeez Dad. Don't worry about it."

That's her new thing. I don't know where she got it, but for some reason, every command of disapproval is met with a "Jeez. Don't worry about it."

The next night. It's time to rinse and wash her hands. I tell her so and wait behind her. Nothing. I prod again and then a final exclamation.

I sigh.

"How many times do I have to keep telling you to do something."

"Three times?" She answers helpfully.

I have to stiffle a laugh and tell her to just do it.