Uh oh, Mami!

Amado is a fake tatoo afficionado. He pretty much always has 4, I usually have two (it HAS to be one on each arm, there is a method to his madness), and Jason usually has one (that's all he'll go for - bad sport).

For those of you who aren't pros at the process, you cut the tatoo from the sheet, put it on your arm face down, and then wet the back. Then, you count to 30 (or 3 sets of 10, as Amado does, he can't count past 10 yet) and then you take off the paper. Print this out. You might need it some day.

So, each time we do a tattoo, we have a conversation/power struggle (depending on the moment) over Amado wanting to operate the scissors. I always explain that they are very sharp, its peligroso, blah blah blah. So, responsible and detail-oriented mom that I am, I must have left the scissors on the couch yesterday from the last tattoo round.

This morning, I was making coffee (like usual) and I hear Amado in the living room.
"Uh oh, Mami! Este no!" he yells.
Lets be honest. I didn't go running. I mean, empassioned "uh-ohs" from Amado are a dime a dozen around here. A crayon under the couch? "Uh oh, Mami!" His sock is crooked? "Uh oh, Mami!" He has a raisin stucck to his arm? "Uh oh, Mami!" You get the picture.

So, I continued making my coffee. Then I turn in time to see Amado, running towards me, full speed ahead with these scissors in his hand! Crap. Isn't that the one really bad thing you can allow a child to do while under your care? Run with scissors? There's jokes about that. Crap. If I had my coffee already this wouldnt have happened. Damn, the coffee addiction!

"Amado!" I yelled. "Por favor, mijo!" I said, grabbbing them from his little but not-to-be-reckoned-with grip.
He gave me a look like I was insane.

And then he gently patted me on the hand and said, "Este no, mami. Tijeras, no. Sofa. Peligroso."