I am hating on my children. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate them, actually I love them. But there are days when they are in fine brat form and today was one of those days.
It began with my little princess who always wakes up on the wrong side of the bed despite the fact that she wakes up every morning upside down, wrapped like a burrito with her head hanging over the edge. I guess I’d be a little touchy if all the blood had pooled in my head too. My princess, who loves mornings as much as she loves the Dentist, yelled at me about her stupid clothes, accused me of trying to scratch her neck off with her hairbrush, and blew raspberries at me from outside the shower door because I wasn’t willing to cut my shower short to jump out and pummel her brother for being mean to her.
When I got home my children were acting like Tarzan’s offspring. They were jumping off stairs and ramming into couches. The house looked like a science experiment gone wrong complete with an unrecognizable burnt sacrifice on the stove, clogging up my new stainless steel saucepan. My nervous tick was on full alert and I screamed like a person possessed as a once-full laundry hamper rolled past me. I have no idea where the dirty clothes went, and no intention of sniffing out their hiding place.
Dinner was a solo affair for the third time this week. I cooked an edible and slightly nutritious meal that could easily have been consumed prior to the nightly roster of sports practices. The only problem, according to my dear children, is that they hate this meal too. “You never cook anything we like, mom.” Bear in mind that my week night meals consist of things like hamburgers, tacos and spaghetti—hardly adult friendly Gucci foods. Normally I just tuck the leftovers away in the fridge, but because I was hating on my kids today, I went through all the snack drawers and boxed up the Swiss Cake Rolls and Goldfish Crackers and hid them in the basement. My children are going off the all-you-can-eat junk food diet—they just don’t know it yet.
Why do they act like this? I promise you that I tried to raise them to be courteous with at least passable table manners. It was never my goal to “phone it in” when it came to being a mother, but apparently I’ve done just that. My son just called to let me know that I need to drop everything and run his cleats to practice. I find this incredulous since, when he headed downstairs he was only wearing socks. How does a kid travel all the way to practice before realizing that he’s not wearing any shoes? I notice when I don’t have on footwear. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. A friend of mine with ten children wants told me her lofty goal for raising her kids, “I want to teach them all to chew with their mouths closed. I hope they’ve learned that before they move out.” I guess we all struggle with parenthood. Thank goodness for the good days because today I’m inclined to pack them all up and ship them to the Netherlands where they can learn to milk goats.
3 comments:
I don't know what to tell you about Chase because we had to run back home for a halmet when we were there. :)
I snapped tonight too when Shea was counting under her breath and Ava was picking at her toes while I was trying to read them a bedtime story they just had to have.
Trish, that's hilarious. I think all kids are brain dead. I heard a lady at Education Week say that her 17 yr old cut the flaps off her garbage disposal because they got in the way of him cleaning his beebee's. I like the goal of chewing with their mouths closed. gives me something to shoot for. Julie told me last night her and Megan were laughing their heads off at this post. Great work!
Rest assured all you mothers out there--my children provide proof they are brain dead every day! You will hear more. I'd love to hear your brain-dead moment. I'm sure they beat mine!
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