The other night, Ethan made me pinkie promise that there were no potatoes in the soup I had cooked for dinner. I pinkie promised, pointing out to him that he had offered me his thumb - I wouldn't want to look like I was cheating, now, would I? After we locked pinkies, he reminded me that you can't break a pinkie promise. Yes, I understand the sacred nature of a pinkie promise. I think he's been hanging with too many girls at school.
But the solemn ritual reminded me of the reason Andrew and I no longer force our kids to eat potatoes. Not even a taste. Not a bite.
When Cameron was four and Ethan two, we grew fatigued at trying to persuade them to eat their starchy vegetables. We demanded one bite of mashed potatoes, and the kids fought it for ages. There was screaming and wailing and a veritable flood of tears. Finally, as bedtime approached and threats of having mashed potatoes for breakfast were unleashed, Cameron took a bite of those cursed mashed potatoes and gagged as though it were pig droppings, then threw up all over the table. I considered making him eat the regurgitated potatoes, but was distracted by Ethan vomiting up his own bite. Two plates full of second-hand food. So not only had they not truly eaten their potatoes, but the rest of their dinners came up along with it, and the result was two boys with entirely empty bellies. We growled and sent them to bed.
About six months later, the memory of that night had faded enough that we went for it a second time. There were spuds on the menu again, though in some other form perhaps. Again, we forced one bite. "Just try it!", we pleaded.
We got the same result. Puked up potatoes everywhere.
We don't make them eat potatoes at all anymore. But we do inflict pain upon anyone who makes gagging noises or uses the words 'nasty', 'gross' or 'disgusting' in front of Drew, and so far, Drew likes potatoes.
Showing posts with label horrors of motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label horrors of motherhood. Show all posts
12/20/09
Death By Mess
Exhibit A: Chewed bubblegum left on the edge of the bathroom sink. Inside of sink coated in dried toothpaste.
One day, I will die from the exhaustion of trying to keep up with the mess in this house. Everyone says that when kids get older, nothing gets easier because instead of dealing with dirty diapers, and "someone" spitting cereal into the baby's hair, and crayon all over the wall, you're dealing with lying, issues with the opposite sex and worrying when the little brats miss curfew. Well, I say bring it on, because the days of finding half-eaten corn dogs on the couch and gum on the bathroom sink have over-stayed their welcome.
One day, I will die from the exhaustion of trying to keep up with the mess in this house. Everyone says that when kids get older, nothing gets easier because instead of dealing with dirty diapers, and "someone" spitting cereal into the baby's hair, and crayon all over the wall, you're dealing with lying, issues with the opposite sex and worrying when the little brats miss curfew. Well, I say bring it on, because the days of finding half-eaten corn dogs on the couch and gum on the bathroom sink have over-stayed their welcome.
10/8/09
Excuse me while I vent.
I spent a good twenty minutes this morning letting my kids have it. I told them off for being irresponsible and not using their brains. I told them, while employing several curse words, (I was losing it, try not to judge), that I would no longer let them live if they continued to:
So after I had laid into them for a good while, hoping that sheer anger and a raised voice would get their attention, I sent them off to school.
Two minutes later, Cameron came bolting in the front door with a look of horror on his face. He had forgotten his glasses. I managed to keep my cool. At least he had the decency to be terrified, and he did remember to come back for them in time for me to avoid having to load the three little guys into the wagon and drag their chubby butts up the hill to the school to deliver the darn glasses. Maybe this was progress?
My hopes that there was a light at the end of the tunnel were dashed when Cameron came home from school 7 hours later with no glasses on his face.
Lots and lots and lots of swear words. This time I kept them to myself though, and told him in a very soft, slow voice, (which caused nearly as much fear as the morning rant did), to take Ethan and walk back to the school to get them. He turned tail and ran before I could change my mind and just beat my frustrations out of him.
So what is a mother to do? How does one convey the importance of responsibility to an eight-year-old who's brain is seemingly overwhelmed at just remembering to draw air into the lungs and keep the heart beating at a regular pace?
- leave their shoes in odd places so that we had to spend ten minutes every morning looking for them
- act as though the teeth brushing requirement is news to them
- say, "I forgot"
- say, "I don't know"
- leave their homework at school
- toss their coats on the back lawn and claim they can't find them the next morning
- forget to wear their glasses to school
- leave their glasses in the gym, or anywhere else at school
- wrestle in the living room
- fail to bring their dirty clothes to the spot in front of the washer which I call "the laundry room", but is actually still the kitchen
- neglect to wash their hands after using the bathroom
So after I had laid into them for a good while, hoping that sheer anger and a raised voice would get their attention, I sent them off to school.
Two minutes later, Cameron came bolting in the front door with a look of horror on his face. He had forgotten his glasses. I managed to keep my cool. At least he had the decency to be terrified, and he did remember to come back for them in time for me to avoid having to load the three little guys into the wagon and drag their chubby butts up the hill to the school to deliver the darn glasses. Maybe this was progress?
My hopes that there was a light at the end of the tunnel were dashed when Cameron came home from school 7 hours later with no glasses on his face.
Lots and lots and lots of swear words. This time I kept them to myself though, and told him in a very soft, slow voice, (which caused nearly as much fear as the morning rant did), to take Ethan and walk back to the school to get them. He turned tail and ran before I could change my mind and just beat my frustrations out of him.
So what is a mother to do? How does one convey the importance of responsibility to an eight-year-old who's brain is seemingly overwhelmed at just remembering to draw air into the lungs and keep the heart beating at a regular pace?
6/9/09
The Day From Hell
Ok, maybe it wasn't an entire day from hell, more like an hour from hell. It started out fine with the kids all behaving themselves and everyone being as pleasant as they could manage. (Different levels of pleasant for each child.) Then I went to get clothes out of the dryer and the delicate peacefulness was shattered by this sight:
That's the inside of the dryer that I borrowed from my sister, (which shall now become mine after I buy her a new one), covered in, near as I can tell, 5 or 6 different crayon colors. There are two theories as to how this happened. The first is that I missed checking somebody's pockets, and the second is that Drew tossed some of his art supplies in the dryer when I was distracted. He's done it before with toys, so why not crayons? I choose to believe that it was my error, because if I knew that Drew had done this, that might just be too much.
So, I first had to call my mom and cry, then I sat in front of the dryer and laughed like a crazy person. Then I got on the internet and looked up how to clean this off. Several sources said to take care of the clothes that were in the dryer when this happened first. I thought the clothes were a lost cause, but the good old World Wide Web gave me hope, and I tried it out. It said to cover the crayon stains with WD-40 and let it sit for about 5 minutes, then wash them out with dish washing liquid, (presumably to remove the oil before you put them back in the drier and add to your woes.) Finally, put some stain remover on them and hope there is a fragmant of thread left when you're done. Now, because of the busy day we had yesterday, I have not yet completed the final step, but I'm not holding my breath. Those clothes will forever have crayon on them. And they may always smell like WD-40. We'll see. So on to the dryer!
I have tried Magic Erasers and all the different cleaning products I own to get the crayon out of the dryer. I scraped it with my debit card, (gotta put that to some kind of use), and that was a waste because the crayon is not crusted inside the dryer so much as it has fused with the enamel coating of the dryer. It looks like tie-dye in some parts and, due to the colors of crayon that were in there, a cotton candy factory explosion in others. Very festive. So today's plan of action involves other tactics...comet with a damp sponge and then reheating the dryer to see if that does anything. I'm not full of hope on this one. Also, I can see tiny chunks of crayon in the holes where the lint is filtered through, but I have no way to get to it, so that will have to be melted into oblivion before it can be used again. Just another crisis in the life of a mother, right?
While I was busy trying to salvage both clothes and dryer, Drew, (yeah, we saw that coming right?), climed up to my desk and somehow managed to turn the image on my computer screen sideways. It was a nice little "funhouse" touch to the day. The mouse, of course, was working sideways also, so I had to contort my body sideways in order to figure out how to shut the thing down. I did that twice, somehow crashed the thing, which finally sent the computer into recovery mode and fixed itself. What is the point of that function other than to play pranks on people? I do not understand why that would be a necessary feature; the ability to turn images sideways...in case your head is on crooked or something?
And while I was cursing and fixing that one, Drew, (yep), decided to rock the baby in his carseat. Rock hard enough and the thing lands upside-down. Trent wasn't buckled in, but either because he's so chubby and immovable or because Divinity knew I couldn't take another disaster, he didn't fall out. He just looked around and gave us all upside-down smiles. Where were Cameron and Ethan during this whole fiasco? Watching cartoons. They are now grounded from TV for being oblivious to their surroundings and generally ticking me off.
In an effort to see the bright side of things I remind myself that I will get to smile every time I put clothes in the dryer and that we needed a new dryer anyway, so no harm done. Now I just get a colorful one. And the brightest spot is that today cannot be as bad as that one hour from yesterday.
That's the inside of the dryer that I borrowed from my sister, (which shall now become mine after I buy her a new one), covered in, near as I can tell, 5 or 6 different crayon colors. There are two theories as to how this happened. The first is that I missed checking somebody's pockets, and the second is that Drew tossed some of his art supplies in the dryer when I was distracted. He's done it before with toys, so why not crayons? I choose to believe that it was my error, because if I knew that Drew had done this, that might just be too much.
So, I first had to call my mom and cry, then I sat in front of the dryer and laughed like a crazy person. Then I got on the internet and looked up how to clean this off. Several sources said to take care of the clothes that were in the dryer when this happened first. I thought the clothes were a lost cause, but the good old World Wide Web gave me hope, and I tried it out. It said to cover the crayon stains with WD-40 and let it sit for about 5 minutes, then wash them out with dish washing liquid, (presumably to remove the oil before you put them back in the drier and add to your woes.) Finally, put some stain remover on them and hope there is a fragmant of thread left when you're done. Now, because of the busy day we had yesterday, I have not yet completed the final step, but I'm not holding my breath. Those clothes will forever have crayon on them. And they may always smell like WD-40. We'll see. So on to the dryer!
I have tried Magic Erasers and all the different cleaning products I own to get the crayon out of the dryer. I scraped it with my debit card, (gotta put that to some kind of use), and that was a waste because the crayon is not crusted inside the dryer so much as it has fused with the enamel coating of the dryer. It looks like tie-dye in some parts and, due to the colors of crayon that were in there, a cotton candy factory explosion in others. Very festive. So today's plan of action involves other tactics...comet with a damp sponge and then reheating the dryer to see if that does anything. I'm not full of hope on this one. Also, I can see tiny chunks of crayon in the holes where the lint is filtered through, but I have no way to get to it, so that will have to be melted into oblivion before it can be used again. Just another crisis in the life of a mother, right?
While I was busy trying to salvage both clothes and dryer, Drew, (yeah, we saw that coming right?), climed up to my desk and somehow managed to turn the image on my computer screen sideways. It was a nice little "funhouse" touch to the day. The mouse, of course, was working sideways also, so I had to contort my body sideways in order to figure out how to shut the thing down. I did that twice, somehow crashed the thing, which finally sent the computer into recovery mode and fixed itself. What is the point of that function other than to play pranks on people? I do not understand why that would be a necessary feature; the ability to turn images sideways...in case your head is on crooked or something?
And while I was cursing and fixing that one, Drew, (yep), decided to rock the baby in his carseat. Rock hard enough and the thing lands upside-down. Trent wasn't buckled in, but either because he's so chubby and immovable or because Divinity knew I couldn't take another disaster, he didn't fall out. He just looked around and gave us all upside-down smiles. Where were Cameron and Ethan during this whole fiasco? Watching cartoons. They are now grounded from TV for being oblivious to their surroundings and generally ticking me off.
5/22/09
I Finally Figured It Out
Four weeks ago I went grocery shopping and was forced to take all four of my boys. We now know what hell will be like. (Notice how I said that as though I already have one foot in the door? Interesting.) I had Cameron and Ethan kung-fu fighting each other in the isles and Drew grabbing things off of any shelf that I steered too close to, and Trent, who was just sitting in his car seat being chubby. Well, when Cameron and Ethan had finally pushed me to the edge, I grabbed them both and in my scariest voice, which was also shaking with anger, I whispered, "When we get home, I am going to call your Dad and tell him how horrible you two were and he is going to beat the crap out of you!" Well, there were three reasons that I wished I hadn't said that. #1: I apparently can't whisper when I'm angry because I got quite a look from a lady who was picking out her twinkies and ho-ho's in the next isle. I fully expected a cop to be waiting for me when I exited the store. #2: I have never pulled the "Wait 'til your father gets home" card because I always wanted the kids to be just as scared of me as Andrew, (or should I have said just as obedient for me as for Andrew?), and I am perfectly capable of dealing with anything they do. Right? And #3: While I was busy making the veins in my forehead pop out, Drew managed to get 2 jars of salsa con queso into the cart, and I didn't discover them until we got home and put everything away. Not really a huge deal except that it ended up being pretty nasty. He could have at least chucked something decent in. (Before I go on, do we all know that Andrew would never beat the crap out of our children? Okay, just making sure.)So, two weeks ago I was in the same horrid place with the same misbehaving children...except for Drew, who was uncharacteristically being sweet and obedient. So rather than perform a repeat of the previous shopping trip and risk a visit from the good old officers of the Layton Police Department, I bought a bag of Skittles and when all the kids were back in the car and buckled in, I presented Drew with the "prize" for being the best behaved child in the store. I have to say, sometimes there CAN be joy in making your children cry. Cameron and Ethan were pretty upset, and I was on top of the world. So today, when I yet again had all four children at the store, there was nothing but single file lines, offers to push the carts and peacefulness. As a result, the three older boys all got prizes. Ethan for being the toughest cart-pusher in all of Super Wal-Mart, Cameron for managing to not throw up in the store, and Drew, for not subjecting us to unnecessary purchases via the "you break it; you buy it" rule. I am now a very happy shopper.
5/13/09
If They Ever Realize Their Power, They're Sure to Abuse It.
I was going through my son's backpack yesterday looking for his homework, and I discovered something much more frightening than fractions and book reports. There was a story there that Cameron had written. His stories are usually about things that he likes; "I like Washington because my best friend lives there.", things like that. This newest one was about Andrew and me. The things he likes about us. It was a short story. Imagine my horror when I read his words...
"I like my Dad because he barbecues when we don't have any food. I like my mom because she sometimes lets me play video games before homework."
Now, if one just skims over that, then it might not seem so terrible. But if you pay attention to what it really says, you'll understand why it bothered me. His teacher now thinks that we have no food and that I am a slacker mom who doesn't care if he does his homework or not. Call out the welfare police and child protective services! And let me pose this question: if we have no food, what exactly is Daddy barbecuing? Has everyone checked to make sure their pets are still secure in their backyards? (Incidentally, I just realized I've been mis-spelling barbecue my whole life. Maybe if I had done my own homework instead of all those video games...)
Secondly, if you knew how much time and effort and patience and work Cameron's teacher and I have put in to helping him do okay this year, you would know just how embarrassing it is to know that his teacher read that video games before homework comment. Not that it isn't true; I do sometimes let him play before homework, but it sounds very wrong after how hard we've worked.
So what's next? Will Cameron eventually become smart enough to realize that most of the things that go on in our house would make excellent material for blackmail? "Mom, if you don't let me stay up later, I'm going to tell everyone at school that you go pee with the door open." We've already gotten to the point where Cameron feels comfortable shouting out his father's favorite vocabulary words in the middle of Ethan's soccer games, (not curse words, mind you, they are far more creative than that). I know it will get worse, I just can't imagine how.
"I like my Dad because he barbecues when we don't have any food. I like my mom because she sometimes lets me play video games before homework."
Now, if one just skims over that, then it might not seem so terrible. But if you pay attention to what it really says, you'll understand why it bothered me. His teacher now thinks that we have no food and that I am a slacker mom who doesn't care if he does his homework or not. Call out the welfare police and child protective services! And let me pose this question: if we have no food, what exactly is Daddy barbecuing? Has everyone checked to make sure their pets are still secure in their backyards? (Incidentally, I just realized I've been mis-spelling barbecue my whole life. Maybe if I had done my own homework instead of all those video games...)
Secondly, if you knew how much time and effort and patience and work Cameron's teacher and I have put in to helping him do okay this year, you would know just how embarrassing it is to know that his teacher read that video games before homework comment. Not that it isn't true; I do sometimes let him play before homework, but it sounds very wrong after how hard we've worked.
So what's next? Will Cameron eventually become smart enough to realize that most of the things that go on in our house would make excellent material for blackmail? "Mom, if you don't let me stay up later, I'm going to tell everyone at school that you go pee with the door open." We've already gotten to the point where Cameron feels comfortable shouting out his father's favorite vocabulary words in the middle of Ethan's soccer games, (not curse words, mind you, they are far more creative than that). I know it will get worse, I just can't imagine how.
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