|I made this.|
My sweet, adorable boys have been possessed by some sort of demon this week. It's not exactly a malevolent harbinger of death and destruction, it's more like the Demon of Fuss, Whine, and Moan. That does not make it any less terrible. I ate so much medicinal chocolate I gave myself heartburn.
Things we have cried real, running-down-the-face tears about this weekend:
1. Having to wash feet. (But whyyyyy? Cue tears rolling down the cheeks while in shower from the seven and eleven-twelfths year old, who thinks soap is somehow equivelent to burning lava apparently.)
2. Going to the dollar store to pick out a toy. Allowed to go in pajamas, even. (I don't waaaaaant to leave the hooouuuussseee and get a toyyyy!)
3. "My brother is making me crazy!" (repeat, repeat, repeat.)
4. Seven other reasons I have blocked out in an attempt for self-preservation. Seven or fifty, I'm not sure which. Things like both wanting and not wanting to go to a picnic at the same time, or having nothing to do and not wanting to do anything. Wanting to eat but not wanting to get out of the bath tub. All perfectly valid reasons to someone, just not to me.
Please note that no one cried when they broke Mama's video camera. That was not as tragic as, say, their brother looking at them wrong.
Today we went to a water park type thing. When we came home they played on their laptops. We watched a movie on the couch. We went outside to play baseball, and then the world ended. First there was a fifteen minute fight over which ball to use, then there were tears over whose turn it was to retrieve the ball from the garden. (They both wanted to go get it from the bushes so kept throwing it back into the hostas in order get their turn, only to have their brother go get it before they could. Then switch which brother I'm talking about and repeat the exact same scenario.) Tears also at the mention of having to take baths and go to bed at some point.
Finally, tears over who caught and threw the ball, as follows:
BIG PANTS: I don't want Tiny Pants to throw it! I want Mama to throw it!
MAMA: I am here just to keep the ball from going in the street! Play with your brother!
BIG PANTS: I don't LIKE playing with my brother!
MAMA: You don't seem to like ANYTHING!
BIG PANTS: I do too! I like ice cream and puppies!!!
Go. Back. To. School. Boarding school sounds nice. Do any of them start on Sundays?
Post Script: The night ended with laughs over football and giggles over baby stories. They were asleep in five minutes flat, maybe a new world record. Perhaps they were just tired and not truly possessed by demons?