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. 🙂


An Emergency: A Child’s Perspective

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.

The Little Things

It started Thursday afternoon. I had just picked my daughter up from daycare and my car was on empty. I could have stopped on my way to pick her up but the gas prices at the station just down the road from daycare were so cheap and my budget so tight, that I waited. While picking up my daughter I was informed that Friday was picture day. My mind scrambles as I’m trying to piece together this new information. I thought the pictures were next week. I thought I had time over the weekend to find her some clothes without stains or rips or sticker glue. Aaaarrrgh! Now I have to add a stop to the store. There better be a clearance rack.

As I process this new information, I pull into the gas station. It is immediately clear that I am not the only person who knows how cheap the gas is here. There is a line of cars and I am six cars out and on the border of the main road. I pull up so I am on the bumper of the guy in front of me to allow room for cars behind me. What pulls up behind me however, is a massive oversized truck, whose driver is obviously more important that anyone else here and demands that the seas part and allow him in. HONK! HONK! I mumble under my breath. HONK! HONK! I throw a dirty look in my rearview mirror. The honking continues until finally I roll down my window and demand to know exactly where the hell he’d like me to move?! I’m sure he had choice words for me but I had gone deaf from the honking and couldn’t hear them. The guy next to me gives me a thumbs up.

After waiting half an hour and multitudes of preschool songs to get my gas, I drag my daughter off to the store to find her picture worthy clothes. After searching through the clearance racks for clothes and several times for my daughter, we settle on a cute sweater and a couple other things she needed for the upcoming winter. I set everything on the counter and my daughter loudly announces that she needs to use the bathroom and runs off in that direction. I chase after her leaving everything behind. We finish up, ring out and leave. I return home feeling better about the next day. Until I get home and empty out the bag.

Where the frack is the sweater?!!!

I call the store. They are closed.

The next day is Friday. My alarm doesn’t go off. My coffee maker decides today is the day to screw with me. My daughter screams like I am beating her because I tell her she must take a shower with me and wash her hair for her pictures. I forget my lunch on the counter and wonder what a tuna fish sandwich will smell like at the end of the day. I am defeated.

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, day.

Btw – the sandwich did not smell very good when I got home. But at least I get better gas mileage than that jackass from yesterday. 🙂