Growing up, my brother used to put his hand about an inch from my face and say, “can’t get mad – not touching”. In fact, come to think of it, my husband has done he same thing on several occasions in the not so distant past. Anyway, it would infuriate me to no end. I was always a stickler for the rules (I swear) and technically, he wasn’t touching – so I couldn’t get mad. Last night, for the first time, this way of thinking had me laughing instead of steaming.

Cole has eczema on his legs (and sometimes on his arms). It acts up with his allergies and asthma, so it’s always a good time . Anyway, last night we were hanging out on the couch watching Blues Clues (which I loathe) when I saw him scratching the crap out of himself. Usually when I see him doing this, I tell him I will cut his hands off if I see it again. In response, he tells me that I couldn’t catch him if I tried, and we go round and round long enough to distract him from the itch, and it passes. So last night, he caught me catching him scratching and stopped immediately, then asked me some random question to throw me off the trail (I have an almost 4-year-old evil genius).Over the next few minutes, he held my hand all sweet and was giving me nice pets, etc. It wasn’t until I heard that scratching sound that I realized he was using my nails to scratch his legs!

I pulled my hand away and looked at him in surprise and I’ll admit, a little admiration, when he said,

“Mommy, no scratching! I’ll cut your hands off. Do it again. See what happens.”

I’m not sure it sent the right message when I laughed so hard I almost peed myself. Tonight’s strategy: taping socks on his hands. And I guess… on mine too.