On some level I’m sure the following would be recognized as bad parenting, but we just can’t seem to help ourselves. You see, we like to teach our two and a half year old son Leo "tricks" solely for our amusement.

The most recent of which is our instruction on how to greet my husband when he arrives home from work. As my husband opens the door Leo will ask, “How was work?” proceeded by, “Take your jacket off,” and concludes with, “Grab a cold beer.”

We actually dream of the day when he can retrieve the beer for us.

We tell our friends about Leo’s evening greeting as we suppress a snicker. “We know it’s wrong, but it’s just so funny.”

Sure we work on teaching him things like numbers and letters, but we’re also working on other overlooked points of education. Like for instance when we answer the phone and hear that oh-so-annoying, “Is Mr./Mrs. (mutilation of our last name) there?” We will hold the phone up in front of Leo and say, “Telemarketer.”

Leo then knows to scream as loud as he can into the mouthpiece.

They don’t teach the kids that in school.

We also make great use of Leo’s eagle eye and healthy obsession with police cars. While barreling down the highway at a good clip it helps to have a scout in the backseat shouting out, “Mommy, look! Police car!”

The money that we’ve saved in speeding tickets should pay for at least one semester of college. 

Until last night we’d figured that the training was one sided, my husband and I training our son. But, you can all stop laughing, because yes, I now know how wrong I’ve been.

Last night my nightly visits to Leo’s room reached a giant crescendo. Up until then I’d been okay with the half dozen trips into his room to assure him that we were right next door. They were annoying but brief visits. I did know that these trips were excessive and most pediatricians would advise on stopping them all together rather than perpetuating the problem. But these were also the same pediatricians who would frown upon us treating our son like a trained monkey. And what fun was that?

Yet last night I discovered that my quick assurance of our proximity was not enough. Last night Leo decided that he wanted to talk. He had a whole bunch of miniature epiphanies that he just couldn’t wait to share. Things like, “Blue blanket is soft,” “Mommy’s hair messy,” and ultimately, “Mommy’s sad.” (He doesn’t yet know how to say, “Mommy’s royally pissed off”)

After conversation was not forthcoming Leo opted to throw a tantrum for the next two hours. We hoped he’d just get whatever excess energy he had swirling around in his little system out and return to sleep on his own.

Yeah, right. He had us where he wanted us. Tears were shed and chunks of hair were lost but still Leo carried on.  

At about 4 a.m. it hit me. Who was training whom?

The image of Leo gathering up his buddies at daycare came to mind. I could see him now, suppressing a snicker, and saying, “I shouldn’t do this, I know it’s wrong, but it just makes me laugh. At about two in the morning just start screaming your head off and watch your parents wig out. They’ll be begging and pleading, crying even, for you to please get back to sleep.”

He’ll hold his stomach as he lets out a great big belly laugh and states, “It’s hilarious!”