Horrid Henry

Before there was Pokemon, there was Horrid Henry.

It used to be that the only thing The Boy got excited about was reading "Horrid Henry" every night - a book about a particularly naughty young boy. It was the first book he memorized and he giggled his way through the entire rendition of HH's unsuccessful attempts to get rid of his new and particularly unwelcome sibling.

Although we've left the book behind lately in favour of Pikachu et. al., there are times when The Boy's inner HH definitely surfaces.

Feels like one of those days today. There's been a ban on Pokemon cards at school since several weeks of increasing frustration on the teachers' parts due to children huddled over cards during lessons finally culminated in a vicious physical attack prompted by a deal gone bad.

(That my son was the victim of this attack is beside the point, but nonetheless we were glad when the cards were banned.)

At least, they're supposed to be banned. Today I picked up The Boy and his teacher handed me a set of purloined cards, liberated from The Boy's clutches earlier in the day. Initially I assumed he'd been given them by an older child, but a long interrogation session on the car ride home revealed that he had surreptitiously snuck them along at the prompting of another child.

Well. We've had a number of discussions on this topic. The Boy knows full well that he is *not* supposed to bring them to school.

(He also knows he is not supposed to throw rocks - see previous Audi- and limousine-related posts - yet I was still required to make good on my threat to take away forever two of his precious cards after *yesterday's* rock-throwing incident. But I digress.)

So, he was informed that by proving himself untrustworthy where Pokemon cards are concerned, said forbidden fruit would be placed atop the refrigerator until after Memorial Day.

The usual hysterics ensued, with several items being thrown from the backseat. I answered his "I hate you, stupid Mom!" with "Good thing I loooooove you enough for both of us" but reminded him that throwing things at the driver is distracting and can lead to an accident.

But when the toque came flying to the front, I had had enough. I stopped the car (2 blocks from home) and said, "since you are not interested in riding safely in this car, you will now walk home." So I followed a sobbing boy at .25 miles an hour down the back lane.

Being a good mom, I soothed with chocolate milk and a snuggle. But today makes me very glad we don't have another baby on the way - if *my* little Horrid Henry had a chance, that baby would be successfully "lost" for sure.