Grrrrrr!

The people who lived in this house before us must have been younger than me.

Why else would you install giant mirror doors on the closet in the breezeway? They have got to go.

First thing in the morning, I don't need to see me. I am doing my damndest to live under the illusion that I'm still young, vibrant and all that good stuff. Mirrors, especially double-door, floor-to-ceiling mirrors, have a negative impact on that illusion at 5 a.m.

Okay, that's thought #1 for the morning.

Thought #2:

Batman just isn't good enough any more.

As I sit here this morning, I am listening to Sonwun do his best to sing along with the Spiderman theme song. "Spiderman, Spiderman, does whatever a spider can . . ."

He loves his superheroes and has a constant thirst on for the next Justice League DVD rental from Blockbuster.

And while I remain Superman, Neomom remains Batgirl and Sontoo is still Robin, Sonwun has upgraded. He is no longer merely Batman. He is now Batman Flash.

In the Justice League videos, Flash is the touted as the fastest man in the universe, which apparently has struck a chord with my eldest. Thus the change in nomenclature.

Thought #3:

I hate discipline. I think I've mentioned this before. And I think I've mentioned that I recognize it is a necessary part of raising responsible, respectful boys. But I still hate it.

Yesterday, Batman Flash was wandering around the house with his little space rocket launcher. It was part of a Hotwheels set. When attached to the track, it launches its little rocket when the cars go by. No major velocity here, but it shoots something and that is highly attractive to a four-year-old superhero.

So Batman Flash (he insist upon being called that) wanders through the kitchen as I'm cooking supper (ribs, mashed potatoes, corn) and he's got that look in his eye. I'm Superman, so I know the look.

It's the look that says, "I need to find something fun to shoot with my rocket launcher."

As he is headed in the direction of Sontoo, I take a moment to head off discipline. I offer the warning, a little reminder, a directive.

"Sonwun, do NOT shoot your brother with that thing."

He acknowledges the advice and I go back to my cooking.

But he does not break pace. He continues into the dining room in the direction of Sontoo. So I put down the potato masher and follow quietly.

And, again, without breaking pace, he walks up and shoots his brother in the head.

As I said, it's a very, very low velocity device. Sontoo barely notices the hit. But that's not the point is it? The point is his gross and blatant disregard for Superman's warning, advice, law. Honestly, that level of disregard for my edict took me by surprise.

"SONWUN," I yell.

He spins around and drops to the floor like he's been hit with a taser. He's caught and he knows it.

And, well, to make a long story short, immediate corrective measures were administered.

I hate discipline. But I just can't have him believing that my directives are an option or that it's okay to shoot his brother with rockets. As he gets bigger, his rockets will get bigger as will their destructive potential.

And it's these things that I think about. It's these things that turn my hair grey. It's these things that make me despise the giant mirrors at 5 a.m.