Emergencies: Part II

So we know what the kids consider to be an emergency (earlier post). Perhaps, I should mention what they don’t consider to be an emergency. Really, it’s just the oldest that seems to have this problem.

This started when he was very little. He was about two years old and he had been playing with his cousin when he came out of the room crying a little. I knew something was wrong because he only cried when he was really, and I mean really, hurt. He was whimpering and holding his little blond head as he approached me but then he stopped halfway across the kitchen, sniffled, and said he was ok. I decided that was not the case and got up to check on him. Yep, he was bleeding from a gash in his head. That’s his idea of ok. It hasn’t changed over the years.

Last year he went snowboarding (the Walmart kind) down one of the snow-plowed hills in our complex with friends. When he came back early I asked if he was ok. He said he was but again my mom sense took over and I asked a few more questions. Turns out he had fallen. Hard. He thinks he hit his head.

Thinks? What the hell does that mean?

Boy: “When I opened my eyes my head hurt.”

Me: “When you opened your eyes?!”

Boy: “Yeah, I guess I blacked out for a second or two.”

Me: “You GUESS you BLACKED OUT?!”

Let’s go to the emergency room…again. It’s like walking into the bar at Cheers. Everybody knows your name.

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M.O.S: Mom On Strike

I’ve had it. I’m on strike. I’m tired of the whining, complaining, moaning, mumbling, and bitching that accompanies anything I ask the boys to do. God forbid I should ask them to wash their clothes or put their things away. I’ve thrown most of their things away (or so they think), shouldn’t that be enough of a deterrent? I give them an allowance when they do their chores, shouldn’t that encourage them? Ugh!! Even when it comes to washing their own clothes all the middle child has to do is request it and I will start it for him. The older one is old enough to work the washer himself. The house doesn’t need to be immaculate (hahahaha! sorry, even the thought of that is funny). I don’t expect them to do much, but as members of this house I do expect them to help. Even the little one has to help clean up her things. But since I can’t get anything done without having to hear them bitch and argue (loudly), or bang cabinets and doors, breaking things… I have officially gone on strike.

I will continue what I normally do for my daughter and I, and the boys will get my love and the essentials they need. If they want anything done, they will need to do it themselves. They will also need to keep their mess confined to their room or it will be thrown out. I’m tired of the mounds of laundry piled high in the tiniest of laundry/storage/utility closets that they claim don’t need to be washed because they still have clean clothes. I’m sure they are using the word clean rather loosely here. Whatever.

If you need me, I’ll be on the couch with a bottle of wine. 🙂

Stinky, smelly, gross boys!!

Please, for the love of all that is good, can someone please tell me why my boys think it’s ok to wear week old socks and two day old underwear?! WHY??? They smell like onion and fart and something that died near the dumpster last week!

I’m not sure I can raise two boys. The girl will be fine but the boys…

They don’t seem to mind taking a “shower” but it isn’t anything like a shower that leaves them smelling fresh. The younger one just kind of gets into the hot water, wanders around for about 10 minutes (longer if I forget he’s in there) and then gets out just as stinky and smelly as he went in. Gross! I have to knock on the door at least three times during his “shower” to remind him to use soap on his entire body including his feet and to use shampoo in his hair. The older one will usually remember to wash but then will forget to put on deodorant and thus will stink again within minutes because his raging hormones are conspiring (and perspiring) against him.

Brushing teeth is like pulling teeth. On one recent dental visit the dentist was in utter shock that my son wasn’t really an 80 year old parading around as a nine year old. Yep, that’s how much plaque he had. I bought him that expensive toothbrush immediately. The one with the timer and separate heads with motion blah, blah blah… It is supposed to shut off automatically after two minutes of brushing. I don’t think it’s ever made it that long. The older one has a special toothpaste he’s supposed to use. I bought it six months ago. I think it still has the wrapper on it.

Begging doesn’t help. Bribing doesn’t help. Consequences don’t help.

Somebody told me that they will start taking better care of themselves when they become interested in someone else (you know, romantically, oh la la). I highly doubt it. I don’t think I’ll ever have grandchildren.

Bill Cosby, I finally get it.