When Old Dogs Bark, Listen.

I love all my grans with my heart and soul, and would reflexively sacrifice both to keep them safe, healthy and happy. Wait, I better check my records, I may have pawned my soul. But I digress.

Precocious little kids will push the boundaries and test authority to see what they can get away with.

I know this because I too – long, long ago and far, far away – was once a precocious little kid who made it his life long mission to push boundaries and test authority. Still do.

I sired and raised three children to adulthood who were similarly afflicted. It was exhausting. Saw way too many courtrooms and ERs. Luckily, Lisa and I had the right professional backgrounds to thread the maze.

My three little visiting grand-witches in training may have received an A+ download of Aussie beauty genes to beguile the rest of the world, but their cores are all genetically pure Bronx bullshit, mischief, and trouble. They are smart as fuck and have already discovered how to play the universe.

So has their little wizard male cousin, Lucian, but I’ll leave him for another blog.

I’m not suggesting that authoritarian challenging proclivities are a bad skillset to incorporate into a repertoire, but you must let the young practitioners know that it is never foolproof. Even where a natural competence of a subject matter is demonstrated at an early age, you do not want your legacy undone in life by overconfidence.

As any clever casino security employee will explain, when mischief is afoot, there is always a tell.

They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and “they” are right.

I can spot a child wailing like a Banshee and know just by looking at their eyes if they are full of shit and just trying to manipulate the emotions of some unwary adult like Paris Gypsies. The eyes never lie. The faker can and will make and hold black, tearless eye contact for a nanosecond with a look that says “that’s right, I’m playing them, move on and mind your own business.”

I’ve gotten that look at different times from all three of the grans over these past few weeks.

But channeling my best Spaghetti, I’m just not having it. I will gaze lovingly at the particular little actress and call out for the room to hear, “Knock it off. You are completely full of shit!”

That usually ends the performance, and sends the outed provocateur racing to another room to regroup.

Luckily they have not yet mastered the witches version of the psychic dim mak or I would surely be pushing up daisies at this point.

My evening hot tub lifeguard duty provides me with some one-on-one time for philosophy class with the entire baby coven. Since there is no outsiders around to bamboozle, the three tiny urchins practice their subtle warrior skills on each other. An intentional splash of chlorinated water in the eyes, an unexpected dunk, or riding another’s face into the side of the tub like a professional wrestler into the turnbuckle have all been spotted and the foul immediately called. They all reflexively put on that innocent, angelic, “What? Me?!” look and often exclaim “It was an accident!”

That line is as good as an outright confession.

My siblings and I imparted similar accidents on each other, regularly, and have the scars to prove it.

I immediately put on my best lawyerly voice and explain that there is an entire world out there waiting to fuck them over at every opportunity, and the best hope they will have, individually and collectively, in surviving in the long run, once all of their protecting elders – like me – have crossed the veil, is the support of their siblings. And, when called upon those siblings will remember every fat lip, chipped tooth and stitch that they received in friendly familial fire, “so don’t fuck with each other.”

If any one of them snickers or ignores me during this dramatic remonstration, I make them all get out of the hottub and return through the dungeon to the upstairs. They hate that, as the tub is a lot of warm bubbly fun where they can otherwise play each evening until their hearts are content or their skin so shriveled from the warm water that they look like old crones.

The warm water relaxes them and gets them ready for bed. And that is a good thing.

And each day of their extended stay offers another opportunity for a teaching experience, curses and all.

Cannot wait to see what today has lined up at the filled to the rafters Casa Claire.

Thankfully, Thursday has arrived, so we must get the work week sorted.

You fine, five readers get it done at work so tomorrow remains free for lollygagging and tomfoolery (one of my most favorite words).

Get that last cuppa joe down the gullet and go be as responsible as you can muster.

I’m going to go out there and cuddle some kitties, and make my rounds.

Probably attempt another bad example of being a responsible adult. The urchins will see right through it.

But, no matter what ever it is we get up to today, let us make it a great one.