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. 🙂
I am in the process of trying to teach (and reteach) my kids what constitutes a true emergency. I am also trying to emphasize that this rule should be followed when I am in the bathroom. I never get time to myself and sometimes alone time only happens in the bathroom. This is where I check my email, catch up on Facebook, and *gulp* may even blog (just a little!). At any rate this time is brief and precious and I do NOT want to be disturbed unless… there is an emergency.
Now my definition of an emergency and their definition differ dramatically.
My example of an emergency: someone is bleeding to the point of unconsciousness and/or has become recently detached to an appendage
Their take on that: someone fell off the couch and is not hurt; she can’t find her other princess shoe and now must limp around because she refuses to take the other shoe off; someone sneezed
My example: the house is on fire
Their misunderstanding: the remote is lost or beyond reach and he/she is too lazy to get up and get it (but they can knock on the bathroom door to ask me where it is); they want to play on the iPad but don’t know the passcode and so must bother me for it right now because it cannot possibly wait one.more.minute
My example: someone is breaking into the house
Their interpretation: right now is the perfect and only time to go outside therefore it cannot be squandered and they must bang until I accede; they want dessert; someone farted
I would buy a dictionary but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t help. But if I do I will be sure to have them also look up the word “boundaries”… because clearly, they have none.
Being four gives you a certain amount of leeway and a natural naiveté that lends itself to saying really embarrassing things without a hint of shame. My boys went through this stage so I shouldn’t be surprised. I just don’t remember my boys being so vocal. Whenever I take my daughter into a public restroom I brace myself for what she might say.
When she was potty training I would cheer her on with song and dance, clapping, cartwheels… whatever it took to get her excited about using the toilet. This to her was normal. I also made sure she knew the correct terminology for her body parts. Yep, that word… v-a-g-i-n-a. God forbid she said that in front of anyone of the male variety. I thought it was kind of funny to see them squirm. Until it was my turn.
We were at the town pool and I had to use the bathroom. I carted my daughter off and squeezed the two of us into a ridiculously tiny stall. As I began peeing, my daughter – with all the enthusiasm of a proud four year old – began to cheer me on. “Yeah Mommy! Good job going pee on the potty.” I managed a thank you – after all what was I supposed to say. Then she said it… she dropped the v-bomb. “Your pee is coming out your vagina!” I felt my face grow flush as I heard the gales of laughter from the stalls on either side of me. I thought of staying in there until the women left but knew that wasn’t going to be an option since my daughter was already crawling under the stall door. Thankfully the laughter was coming from other moms who had been through or were going through the same thing.
Her latest obsession is my boobs. Today in the checkout line at Target she looked up at me lovingly and said “Mommy, I really like your boobs.” I thought the guy behind us was going to choke on his coffee.