March 2, 2008

Going slowly crazy

Screaming, yelling, crying.... Hitting, kicking, pinching...

Marker on the floor.... marker on the table....

Playdoh on the couch.

More fighting.

* * * *

"He hit my feet with his feet!"

"He drew numbers on my page!"

"I want to be a muscle man!"

"I want a cookie."

"Mine!!!"

"I want more toast!!"

"Noooo!!! Noooo!!!"

* * * *

"Don't stick your fingers in your brother's water"

"Those are colouring pencils, not swords."

"No cookies for breakfast."

"Stop spitting the markers!!"

"Monkey, I mean it! Stop. Spitting. The. Markers."

"Finish the toast on your plate first."

"Stop fighting."

"Hey! Stop throwing the Tupperware!"

"Don't climb on that, you could fall down."

"Don't draw on that, drawings go on paper."

"Pick that up!!"

* * * *

Have you read Farmer Boy by Laura Ingalls Wilder, author of Little House on the Prairie?

In Farmer Boy, Sundays are sacred. Nobody is allowed to work or play. The three boys are expected to sit quietly and listen to stories out of the bible. All day. Quiet. Of course, it's because of the dictates of their religion. So, to get a piece of that action, I'd have to adopt the same religion. And I'd have to go back in time. Does anyone have a time machine I can borrow?

Just now, when I catch the boys kicking each other (again):

I tell them to move their legs away from each other. Buddy moves over, but Monkey just stares up at me with that "you can't do anything about it" grin.

I get louder, "Move your legs!". Still with the grin.

Then the threats. I've promised to take them shopping to buy something with the birthday money from their grandmother today. So, "Move your legs, or no shopping." He yells, "YES!!" Me, "Do you want to go shopping?" Monkey, "Yes!" Me, "Move over or no shopping." Still nothing, except now he's glaring at me.

And I lose it. I lean forward and knock over their bucket of markers, making a loud noise to emphasize that I mean what I am saying, "Move your legs over right now!!" Markers everywhere. "RIGHT NOW!" And he moves (finally). "Now clean those up!"

I win. Except.... I totally lose. Psycho mommy is me. Sometimes I really don't like myself.


Is it time for school again yet?

And how about that time machine?

.....

5 comments :

SaraLynn said...

Pschyo mommy you are not. Every kid tried to see how far they can push it. Sigh...I feel for ya. I go through that same thing with mine. So you are not alone!

Is that any consolation?

Amanda said...

Don't feel bad. I think we moms have this insane standard that we feel like we have to live up to. Everyone has had times like that, some moms just won't admit it.

Sass E-mum said...

I remember that kicking, pushing leg thing with my brother. We used to fight in the back of the car. I'm amazed we didn't cause accidents. We were often threatened with being dumped at the side of the road.

I still couldn't say if my parents could ever have stopped us and sadly we were teenagers before we finally got a grip.

Err. That doesn't help, does it?

Don Mills Diva said...

Sound like you are NORMAL mommy. I can't tell you how many times I looked at the clock yesterday and calculated the hours and minutes until I could put my son to bed.

Tosha said...

You're not a psycho mommy. But I must chuckle a bit at the grinning and glares. Typical children. So cute.