Go to Hell

I wanted to chase the last one to bed this evening when he was washing his own snack box, which he kept in his school bag for two days.  It was past his bedtime, he did everything in slow motion, but the tap water did not slow down with him as he rinsed off the detergent.  I am never able to bear seeing water running like it is for free (even if it was for free, I wouldn't), so I took over his box and rinsed off the remaining detergent in a flash, and said, "go away. go to hell".  He slouched low and walked like a tortoise, heading towards the door, "I don't want to go to hell", I replied, "go to hell, quick!"  He slouched even more, this time he looked really like an old man, and spoke like one, "I don't know the way to hell..." and slowly but gently closed the door behind him without looking back.

I thought that was a very witty response as a quiet smile formed on my face.  Not bad for someone who is so tired!

It looks really bad on me how I talk to my sons.  The words I use.  That hell was honestly not meant in that literal sense and he knew it too, he did not even react.  It was just an alternative word for sleep.  Yes, still.  I know, I shouldn't.  The next time hell wants to make its way out of my mouth, I will make a very big attempt to stop and swallow that hellish word, I promise I will.

That boy who doesn't know the way to hell is Ludwig.