About the Kids

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(Yes, family, this is an old picture. I don't care. It's cute. Plus I can't find the new ones. Just play along.)

I love my children. I really do. They're kind and sweet and talented and cute. They are smarter than the average bear, they make my world revolve, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. (Cut and paste loving mommy blog paragraph here.)

I think it would be fascinating to come to a mommy blog and read something like, "MAN, my four year old is a little jerk. He's constantly picking his nose, and it's disgusting. He won't pee in the toilet, he keeps making this loud beeping noise, and if I have to read that Diego story one more time I will kill myself." I think I would have to read that one. Possibly I would have to report the mother to social services eventually, but it would be interesting to read.

Because my children CAN be incredibly annoying sometimes.

Is it really necessary to run around the house flapping your arms and yelling, "I'm a goony bird, I'm a goony bird," for twenty minutes straight? Is that ever necessary? Am I really a horrible mother for making you STOP IT? Have I really crushed all of your dreams?

And why is it that if Sarah is sitting in the family room by herself, and I ask her to turn off the T.V., she'll just kind of sigh, and look at me with an aggrieved expression, then gradually, slowly, make her way over to the T.V., lift her arm as though it's incredibly heavy, and in slow motion, turn it off, sighing the whole time? Then look at me as if to say, the things I do for you mom, the things I do for you.

But if all three of my kids are there? And I say, "someone turn off the t.v.," World War III breaks out as they all rush to be the first to turn it off. Someone pushes someone, someone is victorious, someone else falls on the floor crying as though they'd been stabbed, when really all that happened was that they DID NOT GET TO TURN OFF THE T.V. Then with the crying, and the "I was going to turn it off, " and "but I was first," and "he didn't let me turn it off."

The other day Abby and Carter had a fight. As ducks. One of them started quacking and the other quacked back. It was all good fun, but eventually the quacking turned menacing and angry, and one of them burst into tears. "Mom, she quacked at me." They don't even know what they are arguing about. They don't speak duck.

Irrational goons, my children. And yet, they think I'M annoying. What is up with that?

Someday, twenty years from now, when we are sitting in some therapist's office, discussing all of the ways I failed them as a parent, I know some of this stuff is gonna come back to bite me. Sarah will cry about how I never bought her cute shoes, and I never learned to properly braid her hair, and as if that wasn't enough, there were a lot of times that I did not let her order from the book order, and if there is something terrible you can do to a six year old child, apparently that is it. Judging from the hysterical sobbing that took place last night.

Abby will explain how I stifled her creativity and smashed her hopes when I would not let her wear her princess costume to preschool on non-Halloween oriented days. Her friend Brooklyn came over to play yesterday dressed in princess shoes and a frilly skirt, and Abby looked at me and said, "THAT'S NICE, your mom lets you wear PRINCESS SHOES OUTSIDE," and then gave me a look of disgust and walked away. She is also ashamed of the fact that I do not wear dresses every day, as she imagines most other mothers do. She encourages me to "please wear a skirt" and to "try to look nicer" and to "make something in your mouth not smell like that." O.K., maybe she had a point on the last one. But do I have to take this from a girl who still occasionally pees herself?

Carter so far, has no major complaints, but give him time. He's still at that age where he thinks his father and I are wonderful. Well, except when we tell him "no computer" or "no TV" or "you have to come inside" or "get your hands out of your underwear." So really, thinking about it now, he's kind of mad at us a lot. But when he's NOT mad, he thinks we're awesome.

Sorry. Excuse me. This post really has no point. I know I'm supposed to wrap it up with some kind of inspirational story or thought, but I don't have it in me today. Maybe if they'd KNOCK IT OFF WITH THE INFERNAL BEEPING FOR TWO SECONDS, I could come up with something.

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In other news, I am never eating again. I got on the scale this morning and WOW. Wow. You have to be really dedicated to your craft to attain this particular level of rapid weight gain. I need to do something about this. TODAY. Or possibly on Monday.

Blah.