The Kids’ cousin is a Marine. In all likelihood, he will be heading to a not-so-peaceful region of the world in the near future.
The Boy, trying to wrap his mind around what exactly his cousin will be doing: “So Dan’s going some place where our soldiers got rid of the bad government & we’re trying to help start a good government. I think it’s Philadelphia.”
The Fresh Prince’s mom was right to move him to Bel Air.
Reason #452 I should probably limit The Kids’ television viewing:
The Boy: “You know, Mom, if you want us to get up in the morning without whining, you should get us Unisom. It lets you fall asleep 33% faster & you wake up ready to go.”
Me, doing a puzzle with The Boy: “I don’t think that piece goes there, Bud.”
The Boy: “No, no… I can make this work. I just need a hammer & some duct tape.”
I love The Kids. I love them so much sometimes I don’t know what to do with it.
But sometimes… oh, sometimes…
Sometimes they’re jerks.
There. I said it.
It doesn’t mean I don’t love them. But at that moment when The Girl is rolling her eyes & stomping up the stairs, declaring how heinous it is that she has to put her dirty socks somewhere other than the kitchen counter or The Boy is having an all out fit because I won’t let him have a cupcake 10 minutes before dinner, I think, “They’re such jerks!”
For those of you with kids, maybe you’ve felt the same way. Or maybe you think I’m a terrible person & a horrible parent. Either way, you have to admit that there are times when you just really don’t like your kids.
I’ve said it to them. It’s a line I learned from my mother-in-law. “I love you very much. But I don’t like you very much right now.”
And I think about all those times that I rolled my eyes & stomped up the stairs, declaring how heinous it was that I had to put my dirty socks somewhere other than the kitchen counter & I realize that The Joan probably didn’t like me very much sometimes either. Which amazes me because she never really showed it. She was good at just walking away or calmly telling me to go away. (Except that one time when I broke a Flintstone’s jelly jar glass & she freaked out yelling, “Damn it! We just can’t keep nice things in this house!”)
I, on the other hand, have a horrible habit of telling people exactly what’s pissing me off about them. The Kids included. And I don’t stop until I get it all out of my system. As The Ex said one time, “It’s not enough for me to be wrong. You have to make sure I know exactly how wrong I am.”
So I’m determined to try to be more like The Joan. Walk away or calmly tell them to go away. Obviously if it is unacceptable behavior, there will be punishment involved but for the most part, I have to not let it get to me so much.
After all, when I get frustrated with them, they sense that. And they feed on it.
You know it’s going to be an interesting night when The Boy hands me a Lego figure & says, “Here. You’re this guy. His job is to rescue the bones of George Washington.”