Here’s the deal.

Everytime I try to sit down and write these days the kids start fighting.  Well, not all of the kids.  Just the two youngest.   Number 3 and Number 4 have a highly developed feudal system going here and it is about to drive me right straight round the twist! 

Today, it was she grabbing the comic section out from under his nose as he was clearly reading it at breakfast.  Of course, this elicited a wail of outrage unbecoming of an almost 14-year-old and more representative of a 2-year-old’s response.

Then it was he telling me I wasn’t dealing harshly enough with her and that was after I sent her to her room and told her she could not go down the street to play with her friends, which really is the worst punishment possible for the social creature that she is.

I’ve worked on a million (it seems) posts in my mind, but when I get ready to put anything to print an uproar breaks out.  Normally, I just wait till the din subsides then I go sweep up dismantled body parts and carcasses and dispose of them in the garbage, but lately the din is unbearable and neither one is relenting in their quest for ulitmate dominion and aggravation of the other.

Currently, Number 3 is insisting that somebody cut his hair in the night.  No such thing happened.  I know this for a fact because I was up practically all night…or most of it…well certainly later than any of the kids were. His hair looks no different that it ever has.  In fact, it looks better right now than it usually does.

Now  he’s moaning  that his roller blades are a mess.  Of course, this would not be because he hasn’t maintained them, instead, it is because his younger sister maliciously destroyed them when he was gone for the weekend.  Like she had nothing better to do all weekend while her little girl friend from school was over.  Of course, what he’s doing worrying about the roller blades, when he’s been tasked with making his bed is anyone’s guess. 

I’m ready to run an ad in the paper:

TWO CHILDREN

Free to any home, good or not. 

Generous compensation for taking them off my hands. 

You’ll need the money to invest in a lifetime supply of migraine medicine or possibly Prozac or Valium.  Maybe all three.

Satisfaction is not guaranteed and no returns allowed. 

But, even though I’m tempted…I just can’t bring myself to do it.  After all, I just have too much menial labor to be done around this place and as long as they are going to complain about how bad their lives really are, I’m going to be certain they have something substantial to complain about.  If they keep it up, I may never have to do another housekeeping chore for the next ten years.  Plus, if nothing else, I can comfort myself with the knowledge that at least they are worth a tax credit at the end of the year.

This ought to be an enjoyable afternoon.  I’ll be out sunning myself while supervising two very naughty children who went to bed far too late after having far too much ice cream as they pull weeds, clip hedges, sweep walks and clean up.  So that’s what I get for bending the rules and attempting to be the “fun time mom”.  They just made sure that The Mom From The Black Lagoon returns.

If that doesn’t work, the toilets need scrubbing and the floors need to be mopped. 

There is also dusting, window washing, and a whole garage to clean out.  My cars could use some tidying up as well. Oh, and socks need to be sorted and matched.

I imagine they will be pretty cooperative after I get done with them.  If not cooperative, at least silent.