Is It Too Much To Ask?

For a little obedience from my spawn? I know I'm not the most uber-fabulous mother to grace the land of mommyhood. I know that. But, come on!! Is a little bit of obedience just too much to ask of my kids?

Apparently, it is. Because for the millionth day in the last few weeks I found myself thinking I just couldn't take it anymore. I began thinking about how I would put my resume together and start looking for a job. Any job. Yes, I will wipe shit off of the inside of a toilet bowl in a hotel bathroom to get out of this gig. Not because I enjoy wiping shit off of other people's toilet bowls, or because I'm even seriously dying to get back to work. I wanted a job so that the girls could spend 8 hours being disobedient to someone else during the day.

Where is this all coming from, you probably wonder.
Let's start with this, although it's not so much obedience related as just plain annoying (and a fantastic way to start the day):

At approximately 0900 this morning, S. woke up and came out of her room. She entered my office and stood by my chair. I looked at her, said good morning and then she started crying. As if that weren't dramatic enough, she then threw her 30+ lb body at the arm of my chair. Obviously, because gravity works, she fell to the ground in a crying heap. Where she stayed. For almost five minutes. Crying.

I asked her what was wrong, and was graced with more tears and screaming in response. WTF?! She obviously is not ready or willing to tell me what's wrong so I can help fix it. S. is way too content crying to be bothered with anything resembling problem solving. So I ignored her and went back to whatever mundane shit I was doing on the computer. I asked her again, what's wrong. Again, more crying. This went on for almost 15 minutes. 15 minutes! Twice she picked herself up off the floor and took herself to her room, where she cried a little bit more before coming out and crying on the way to and inside of another room. It was almost like she was blessing the house. You know, just going room to room shaking the priestly rattle thing and showering holy water on everything. Except she didn't have a priestly rattle thing. And there was nothing holy about her outburst.

After her second self-imposed exile, she finally stopped. I still have no idea what the hell was wrong with her. I strongly believe that she didn't either. Because sometimes, S. just does that- she'll wake up, walk out of her room and start crying. And then cry for minutes until either we put her back in bed, or she puts herself back into bed, cries for a bit more and then goes right back to sleep. I'm not kidding. It's like she's a sleepwalker whose natural response is to cry as she walks about in her coma-like state. She's incredibly inconsolable in those moments, which is how we can tell the difference between an unhappy awakening, or an unhappy sleep walking episode. Either way it sucks.

So there's that.

The obedience thing can best be illustrated with the following exchanges:

Conversation #1:

(as we're picking out donuts at Safeway)

Me: "A., stop leaning into the cart. You'll get hurt."

A.: "I'm trying to get my wind blower."

Me: "I don't care. If you need something in the cart, just ask me."

A.: "okay."

(seconds later she's reaching into the cart again)

Me: "Didn't I just tell you not to do that?"

A.: "But I wanted my wind blower."

Me: "well, you know what? Now you don't get it because you don't know how to pay attention to anything I say."

A.: "But I'm going to be a good girl."

Me: "sorry, too late."

And now, as I write this, I realize that she went into my purse to get the noise blower out, because she "wanted it."

Uh huh.

And how about this:

Conversation #2:
(lunchtime)

S.: "I want a donut."

Me: "did you finish your eggroll?"

S.: "no."

Me: "finish your eggroll and you can have a donut."

S.: "But I want a donut."

Me: "go eat your eggroll."

Minutes later, wailing is heard from the dining room.

A.: "S. took a bite of my donut!!"

Me to S.: "don't eat her donut. You didn't eat your lunch so you don't get a donut."

Me to A.: "You don't have to cry about it. Just eat your donut."

Even a few more minutes later, S. reappears before me with a fortune cookie in her hand:

S.: "I want that."

Me: "did you eat your eggroll?"

S.: "no."

Me: "eat your eggroll."

S.: "no. I want cookie."

At which point I confiscate the fortune cookie and she departs.

A few more minutes after that (déjà vu, anyone?):

S.: "I want donut."

Me: see above responses

S.: "How 'bout that?" (points to previously confiscated fortune cookie now laying next to the monitor)

Me: "no"

S.: "How 'bout… waffle?"

Me: "no"

S.: "How 'bout-"

Me- (completely exasperated at this point with the whole exchange): "eat your eggroll."

S.: "Okay."

And still later:

S.: "can I have donut, please?"

Me: "did you finish your eggroll?"

S.: (pause) "yes"

Mmm hmmm. We'll see.

I looked. Judging by the fly that was sitting on the top of the crispy brown rectangle with veggies falling out, she didn't finish it.

Fabricator!

I could go on, but I think you get the gist.

And I get this. Every. Single. Day.

Again, WTF?!!!

I understand completely that as preschoolers they are testing their limits. I get that. But at what point do they stop testing these limits and just say, "okay mom. You don't want me to do that so I won't" instead of something along the lines of "why?", "why not" or outright unspoken defiance? When? When they're 5? 15? 55?!!!
Oh God.

Pieces of my soul dissipate with each "why not" I get asked. Which means that pretty soon there will be nothing left of me. I'll just be a hollow shell of a person with no soul or spirit to speak of.

Those of you who know and love me, get your fill now. Because soon I may become a void entity until I completely disappear and become nothing but a memory.

The Halloween That Almost Wasn’t

Yesterday was a terrible, horrible, no good day for me, and eventually for the girls, as well.

It all started at babiesrus.

First, I have to say I was already in a shit mood. So I was VERY susceptible to intense feelings of anger and upsetedness when provoked.

Ok. So we go through toysrus first. And knowing that it would be like torture for them to walk through there and not walk out without buying something, I let them look at toys as I browse around myself for a friend's birthday present and for their Christmas. Then we go next door to babiesrus, where they start getting a little punchy. Like, "oh, mom. It's so cute when you tell me to come over there and stay with you. But I'm going to stay here." Kind of punchy. Not a too big deal. I'm getting pissed, but I take a deep breath and marvel at how much cuter strollers and bedding sets have gotten since S. was born.

In the feeding aisle, A. is trying to push the cart, and S. hops on the side for a ride. I'm not holding onto the cart. I'm contemplating adding a bottle sterilizer from my friend's registry to the cart. But then there's this flash of silver and pink, along with a crash, and I look down to see the cart had fallen sideways on top of S. Now I'm pissed. Because by then I had told them both, numerous times, to stay off the cart. So I pick the cart up off of S. and make sure she's ok, before I convey my displeasure at their behavior. "I'm going to be good, mama" they both plead. "Sure." I say.

After finishing up at babies/toysrus, we head to the commissary. Even though it's payday. And the slow-as-molasses loonies who lack any kind of situational awareness at all, will be there. Because they always are. Especially on or the days before and after payday. But we desperately need food. And Capri-Suns are $3 cheaper there than they are at Safeway (among other things). So we go. They start out in the cart, but eventually I let them loose. I'm not sure why. I think it was because they were quieter on their feet than they were in the cart and I had a headache (again). So we're bobbing and weaving throughout the aisles and grabbing the items on the list, and then some. During this time, these kids of mine thought that hiding behind pallet displays was the cool thing to do. And also that, when I told them to come on, I was probably just kidding and didn't want them close to me, after all. We leave the commissary and I'm even more pissed.

"You better be good or no one will be trick-or-treating tonight!" I yelled once we were strapped in the car. Pitiful cries of, "no, mama, no! We're going to be good!" touch my ears as I drive out of the parking lot and across the street. "Mmmhmmm." I reply.

We go across the street to the bx. More specifically, to the Starbucks in the bx mall. Because I really need a Pumpkin Spice latte, and it's payday, so I have spending money again. It is the salve that soothes the savage beast that becomes me at times like that. While I'm ordering, A. tells me she's thirsty, so I also ask for a cup of water.

A.: "But I want chocolate milk." She whines.
Me: "We have chocolate milk in the car. You can have some when we get home."
A.: "But I'm thirsty."
Me: "I'm getting water." I replied, and then turned to the poor barista who would soon be caught in the cross-fire of impending doom.

As I'm paying I turn to see the kids, who are standing in front of the display drink fridge next to the register. Right then I catch S., with an organic apple juice box in her hand, the little yellow straw in the other- just in time to see her poke at the little seal. "No!" I yelled, and grabbed it from her. Upon inspection, she barely made a dent in the seal, but the straw was already open and had been handled by her grubby little 3 year old fingers. Grrrrr. I put it down in front of the register and tell the barista that I'll need to buy that. The poor girl apologized to me for my kid practically stealing the juice box! I told her not to worry about it, that it wasn't her fault. By the time I got my coffee and we were on the way home, I was LIVID!

Me: "NO ONE IS LEAVING THE HOUSE TONIGHT. CONGRATULATIONS, YOU WON'T BE TRICK-OR-TREATING TONIGHT!"

(wails from the back)

Girls: "Nooooooooooooooo. I'm going to be good!"
Me: "You had your chance to be good and you blew it. You're staying home."

(more wailing and gnashing of teeth- all the way home)

Once we were home, I did something I swore I would NEVER do. I called dh at work to talk to the girls. During that 20 minute ride home I began to think that he might have some idea as to how they could redeem themselves and earn back their Halloween, even though I was still so outraged I couldn't even think. I gave him a brief run-down of the afternoon, he tries to calm me down, then asks to talk to A. and they strike a deal. If she & S. will clean up their room and the dining table, and be good for the rest of the afternoon, they can go. A. promises her dad that she will comply, and after handing me the phone back, gets her sister and starts cleaning up. I say good-bye and hang up the phone.

And they did what they were told, and things were looking promising when, about two hours later (approximately 3 pm, Tucson time), I hear this strange noise coming from behind my chair in the office. This cannot be good. I thought to myself as I got up. I had no idea how NOT-GOOD it actually was until I saw snips of yellow yarn-cabbage patch doll hair strewn about behind my chair. The poor fabricky, yarny, un-named victim lay sprawled near the cut pieces of hair. The cutter- a.k.a. A.- sat on her knees, scissors laced between her fingers and looked up at me. I went blind with rage. The I-don't-care-if-the-neighbors-hear-me-screaming kind of rage.

Me: "What are you doing? What the hell do you think you are doing?"

A. stumbles for an answer while I get her dad back on the phone.

As I'm telling him how there "DEFINITELY will be NO TRICK-OR-TREATING tonight", I see S. out of the corner of my eye. I look at her, and HER HAIR IS ALL GONE!!! Truly. She had long brown hair that fell into soft curls mid-back, and now there was nothing below her shoulders. I screamed, then I cried. Right there, forgetting I was still on the phone with dh, and I screamed and cried. After a few seconds I was able to get myself together enough to tell him that S. was now missing inches of hair off of her head. I don't even know where A. got the scissors from!! After watching her get snip-happy (under our supervision) the night before and cutting construction paper into tiny shreds, we told her she couldn't ever use them without asking us, and then I went and round up all the scissors we had in the house and hid them. Or so I thought, but apparently not.

Once I get off the phone, I scream at A., demanding to know why she cut her sister's hair. "Because she wanted me to." She answered. "She's 3, A.! 3! You DO NOT CUT HER HAIR without talking to me or daddy first, do you understand?" I yelled. And in case she misheard me before, I remind her that she has just lost trick-or-treating privileges. I didn't tell her this, but I wanted to add Christmas in there, too. No Halloween; no dress up and no candy, and no Christmas; no hunting for Santa Claus and opening presents. Because there would be no presents for her from Santa or anyone. But I held my tongue on that and went to vacuum S.'s hair off of the living room floor.

By the time dh got home, I was calm- er. Meaning that I had taken a sedative (per dr.'s instructions earlier that afternoon, coincidentally) and talked to my sister.

We talked, then I brought A. out so she could talk to him, and then sent her back and went into our room to discuss what we were going to do.

We finally decided not to take Halloween away. Don't get me wrong, it wouldn't have bothered me one iota to keep them home. It was a drastic way to set an example, but at this point I felt desperate times needed desperate measures. But after thinking about it, I realized I didn't really want to take away something irreplaceable. Her 4^th Halloween would only come once in her life. After tomorrow, it would be gone. So we decided she could go trick-or-treating (I would even let her keep the candy, which I definitely wasn't going to do), but in exchange, we were taking all of her toys out of her room and she would spend all day today in her bedroom. She could come out to potty and eat, and that was it. She agreed to the conditions of her sentencing and we got ready to meet friends we had planned to collect candy with.

The rest of the evening went nicely (for ALL of us) and the girls got to go door-to-door asking for candy with their friends (another princess and a mermaid. A. was also a princess –for the second time, and S. was a witch).

Now that all is said and done, I learned a few things:

1- ALL crafty type things- markers, paint, scissors, glue sticks, crayons, hold punchers… will be hidden from sight. Both in location and altitude. So neither of them can climb a chair and get them out of the cabinets they were being stored in.

2- S. actually looks very good with short hair.
I hate to admit it, but A. actually didn't to a terrible job with her sisters's hair. It was at least cut in a way that was mostly salvageable. It pretty much just looks like we got her some trendy pixie hair cut, where edges are meant to be uneven and funky.

3- I suppose they're not getting enough supervision.
One minute they were watching tv, the next minute I catch A. playing "Edward Scissor Hands", but with real scissors, and on her sister. Who knew.

Just for context, S. before:

S. After