I’m not kidding that my life is smack out of Monty Python. Crude humor, outrageous accents, funny looking outfits, and beating a joke to death. Visit YouTube if you weren’t as big of a nerd in high school as I was. You will thank me.
Tonight, I went into my Littles room THRICE to apologize for scolding them only to scold them for a new, stupid thing they just did before my unbelieving eyes!
I hate to end our day on a bad note. They may have been absolute monsters and broken every house rule. I may have yelled and threatened and barked orders just to get them through a meal and into pajamas. But I want to end my day with a snuggle. Even with the tweenager. That’s the plan, anyway.
Except some nights are not ordained to end well.
“This morning, shortly after 11am, comedy struck this little house on Dibley Road. Sudden, violent comedy.”
Through clenched jaws, I warned them not to do silly talk at the dinner table.
“Have you got anything without spam?”
(No, they’re not doing the Python quotes because I would never hear the end of it were I to let them watch that level of shenanigans, but I may have actually laughed had they done so.)
My darling husband tried to spare me from their behaviors and I, like a moron, spent 20 minutes of my time “alone” buying small pairs of boys underwear and fighting to get the Gap Cash to work on my phone.
I emerged, evenmore tense but ready to hand out hugs and love, only to hear an expensive sounding BANG from upstairs.
WHAT WAS THAT? WELL WHY TO YOU HAVE YOUR TABLET UPSTAIRS? IT’S BEDTIME! *SILLY KNIGGIT*
And now for something completely different: a woman who is never overwhelmed with fury by the antics of her offspring.
Ok, ok, take a breath. Ignore that the tooth paste is getting everywhere other than inside peoples face holes.
“WHAT IS YOUR QUEST?”
To chew on the neckhole of my pajamas, again, again, again, and again.
I left the room, bound for a bath and to put this evening from my thoughts with a good read. NOPE! I was still feeling like I needed to go and end it well. Mother’s guilt is powerful.
Back into the fray, I was trying to tuck in the second son and he, SIR ACUTE SENSORY PROCESSING DISORDER, took umbridge with the essentials oils I had applied in effort not to put him up for adoption. He pinched his nose and waved me away, “Just go away (you silly English pig dog!)”
SO, like any woman who’s “HAD JUST ABOUT ENOUGH OF THIS”, I yell-lectured my child about how he smells and I don’t say anything and “we all have to put up with each other, including child to parent, because we’re a family! Good night! I love you!” Still counts as a loving end to the day even if I yelled it,
I would be remiss if I didn’t end this post by saying,
“I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.”