Friday, 13 September 2013

No longer in control...

Two of my kids are snipping and sniping and whining at one another about the video game they're playing together; when I suggested they play separately or play something else they protested loudly, redirecting their arguing and whining at me.

Third child is throwing a full-fledged tantrum on the floor because he wants a granola bar but won't let me open it because he wants to do it himself but his chubby not-quite-two-year-old fingers can't manage the foil wrapper - we are at an impasse.

I have stepped on the stupid cat three times in the last five minutes. If he gets underfoot one more time he will likely get thrown out a window.

Husband will be home in five minutes, at which point we will have exactly twenty minutes to eat and clean up from dinner, get uniforms on and bags packed and pile in the car to head out to soccer. Of course, dinner isn't in fact cooked yet as every time I've tried to start I've had to break up an argument in the next room, fetch a glass of milk for a child whose own arms and legs apparently don't work, clean up a spilled bowl of Cheerios, refill a sippy cup of water, grab a tissue for another child incapable of moving under his own power, pick up a toddler who'd prefer to be carried than stand on his own, and negotiate a tv / wii / board game scheduling agreement more complicated than an international peace treaty to keep everyone happy / entertained / out of my hair for five bloody minutes.

Now the children are arguing over who gets to sit on which couch. My God.

It's pretty clear I'm no longer in control around here.

At one point in time, I was the boss around here. As far as my kids were concerned I was all-knowing and all-powerful and my word was law.

Somewhere along the way that changed.

Maybe it was when my youngest was born - I'm clearly outnumbered at this point. Three boys, working together against me, secretly plotting out a rotating schedule of "Mom I want..." and "Mom can I have..." and "Mom can you help with..." and "Mom can you get..." from different rooms on different floors of the house, taking it in turn to get sick or throw temper tantrums or require my undivided attention, and tag-teaming their night-time wake-ups so at least one is always up with me but the others are well-rested and ready to go. One mom who hasn't had a full night's sleep or fifteen minutes to herself in nine years.

I don't stand a chance.


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