My Facebook status: “My son earned a marshmallow crossbow for all his boy scout popcorn sales. I believe this will be infinitely better than the laser sighted Star Wars foam dart gun he got for his birthday which he promptly shot his sister in the eyeball with. I don’t think marshmallows will hurt as much when forcibly projected at the eyeball.”
Let me just preface this story by saying that I have two amazing kids. BUT they are kids. Kids are generally little balls of unbridled emotion. Those of you without children may not understand any of this, but I know those of you with children know exactly what I am talking about. We had one of those weekends that make you think about drowning yourself in the dirty dishwater while you are cleaning the zillions of dishes your family created. At the end of Sunday I was thinking that maybe I have anger issues because I had spent 80% of my day yelling at my children. Then I remembered that they had been trying to maim and/or blind each other the ENTIRE day. I guess yelling is necessary sometimes so that they actually live to see their 18th birthdays. I was talking to some of the women at work and one told me that her thirty-something sons recently admitted to having thrown knives at each other when they were kids while they were at home by themselves….and I was worried about a toaster fire when they are older and can stay home alone. Silly me…
Let’s go over the major highlights of my Sunday. We were running errands early in the day, my daughter decided to annoy my son while he was sleeping in the car on the way back (because she cannot possibly sit still and just listen to music for ten minutes) and he promptly smacked her in the face out of a dead sleep. Of course she retaliated by hitting him four or five times because I couldn’t reach her to hold her back while I was driving. Stupid normal sized arms of mine. This was the beginning of an all out, no holds barred, war filled Sunday between the two of them. My son got a laser sighted Star Wars foam dart gun for his birthday. This thing propels foam darts at a miraculously painful speed. They should write that on the box “propels darts at a miraculously painful speed” so at least you are aware before you open it up. I told him maybe four million times not to hit his sister in the face with this thing. Just to add to the joy of this toy, they put a laser sight on it that apparently is very accurate. Who would have guessed? So anyway, inevitably he pulled the trigger while “accidentally” aiming it right at his sister’s eyeball while I was taking a shower. This made her start screaming and scenes of millions of dollars of retina surgeries in our near future danced before my eyes. There went my nice quiet relaxing shower...luckily, her little eyeball is fine. I decided to make the kids clean their room and fold their clothes as a punishment for being hooligans the entire day. Cleaning makes them even more hostile, so I have no idea why I made this decision. They decided to whip each other with their clothes instead of folding them. I remember what it’s like to get hit with a zipper (because I also have a sister) and it’s not very pleasant. Their defense in this situation was that they had each other’s clothes in their respective piles and they were “giving” them back. One of my kids honestly looked at me late in the day and asked me why I had been yelling so much all day. Sigh.
After a horrendous day filled with battling children, I sat down on my son’s bed to tuck him in and I asked him why the two of them think that it is okay to hit each other all day long, because adults certainly do not hit each other. Then I was thinking that I am sure adults would constantly hit each other if it weren’t illegal. Maybe we would all be better off if every time we did some asshole thing to someone else at work, we got a good hard smack from our cube neighbor. So much for a nice calm Sunday…although when I got to work on Monday all I could think was that I wanted to go back home to hang out with/yell at/watch movies with/listen to whining from/cuddle with my two little monsters. Maybe I have Stockholm syndrome.
"My mother did not put all her eggs in one basket, so to speak: she gave me a younger brother named Russell, who taught me what was meant by 'survival of the fittest.'" –Bill Cosby