whistling

Alouicious has learned to whistle.

Its really the most irritating skill I can think of, in all places, in all times. He whistles to everyhing and at every moment. Just now he is whistling along to Handel’s Greatest Hits (there’s no way anyone can ever accuse me of being a snob for any reason after such a revelation). Later he will whistle himself to bed and whistle himself to sleep. He whistles, aggravatingly, while he works. He whistles in between whining about having to work. He whistles while he reads. Really, there isn’t one single solitary thing I can think of that he does without whistling. I could hear him faintly whistling from the altar as he acolyted yesterday.

I have always tried, in my soul, to be a good mother and not nag, but every other word I breath now is, “don’t whistle in my ear,” “please stop whistling,” “don’t whistle at the table,” “don’t whistle right now,” “don’t whistle right here.”
“Why do you yell at me all the time now?” he asked last week.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “its just you’re always whistling in my ear. Its driving me crazy.”

I know I should be praying for my children to be saved and learn lots of stuff and other kinds of things, but really all I pray every day now is, “Lord Jesus have mercy on me a sinner and please let no other child in this house learn to whistle.”