Fine Lines

Wow, I’m grumpy. So, so grumpy.
It’s funny how this works. Funny peculiar, not funny ha ha. To my kids, it must be funny bewildering. I’m sure they don’t know what to make of me on a night like tonight.

I think I must have a very, very fine line in there somewhere. On one side of the line, there is celebration of life and children. The more the merrier! Ha ha ha ha! Jubilation! Yes, 7-10 children at a time! Come one, come all! I don’t even need to know where you live and it doesn’t matter how you behave when in my presence.

On the other side of that line, there is Go to Bed. Now. Wny am I the only one who ever picks up ah.toy around here? Bunch o’ ingrates. Dirty little street urchins.

The process of crossing over from one side of the line to the other is completely random and illogical. It can take all day to get there, such as today.  It can be prompted by excessive noise. Mess. Or perhaps even warm ears.  The mess factor is definitely a large trigger point. I hate tripping over junk. But I do enough of it to create my own bad dance moves.

The sad fact of all of this is that I don’t have any solutions. Barking = Ineffective. Frothing at the mouth? Almost humorous. Restrictions? Aah. Who cares? Lecturing = Blah blah blah blah blah.  Rewards? No, thank you. We are already spoiled rotten. Punishments? Pa-shaw.

I need solutions. I’m thinking about just throwing out all the toys and giving each one of them a corn cob doll. It was good enough for Mary Ingalls after all. And Laura didn’t even have that for crying out loud. So what if it isn’t 1885?

As I was exhaling from a day of pick pick pick, mess, mess, mess, bleed, whine, spill, flop and spill again and then as I was further exhaling from having typed it all up, thus reliving it for the second time, my 2nd born walked in.

“Mama,” he said. “My neck has bumps all over it. So many bumps. All over. Feel,” he said. It’s true. He’s all broken out. His glands are swollen. Something is going on. I need to call my mom, the doctor. She’ll know what to attribute all of these odd maladies to.

“Yeah,” I said. “You’ve got something going on with you right now. Probably the best thing we can do for you tonight is get you some sleep,” I said.

“Yeah,” he agreed, starting to turn and walk away. Then he turned back around. “I want to give you a hug,” he said.

“I want to give you a hug back,” I said. He wrapped his arms around my neck for a moment. Then, as he pulled away, he kissed me square on the mouth, which is a bit unusual for him. “I love you, boy,” I said.  Now go to bed. Now. And pick up your trash on the way up the stairs. Ungrateful slob.

Just kidding. I feel much better now. I guess all I needed was a hug.

3 thoughts on “Fine Lines

  1. This worked for my girls but I don’t know if it will work for you. It really depends on their devotion to their toys. Our rule was we gave them 15 minutes or so before bedtime to put all their toys away (you must have designated spots for them). Anything left out was ours for the next week. No crying, whining, flayling body, or anything would pry that from our hands before the week was over. It only took a few times before they got the picture and they would hurry to put them up. They did not want MEAN old Mom to have their favorite toy to play with for the week.

    I don’t think this form of torture harmed them in anyway that I can tell.

    I think of you often and how hard it is to raise four little ones! I will say an extra prayer for you today.

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