I have a theory. I think children can smell weakness the way animals can smell fear. Okay maybe they can't smell it exactly, but they sense it somehow. My poor sleep-deprived brain can't come up with any other explanation for the way my kids beat me down on the days when I'm the most tired, stressed, and short on patience. They gang up on me like little Guerrilla fighters. They know they can't best me outright, so they stage small insurrections all day long until I'm finally a quivering wreck at the end of the day. Today has been (correction, still is) that kind of day.
It starts first thing this morning when Bossypants awakens at 6:13 a.m. yelling "Mommy! I want socks! Mooooom! MOMMY! MOM! SOCKS!" Apparently she lost a sock at some point during the night and needs another pair RIGHT NOW. So of course I go to her room, remove a pair of socks from her dresser drawer, and walk the two feet to her bed to put them on her. I'm not quite clear on exactly what prevents her from getting up and getting the socks herself, but I'm still mostly asleep at this point and just do what she wants. Rules of engagement level one: "The subject responds and complies to verbal commands. Close combat techniques do not apply." Check.
Since sleep is no longer a possibility at this point Bossypants wants breakfast. I offer boiled eggs, yogurt, and a banana. Bossypants requests Pop Tarts. I try to explain that Pop Tarts isn't a very good breakfast but am derailed by a bear hug and doe eyes coupled with her sincerest "pleeeeease?" Pop Tarts it is. Rules of engagement level two: "The subject resists verbal commands but complies immediately to any contact controls. Close combat techniques do not apply." Check.
By this time Poopypants is awake. And, true to his name, he has a loaded diaper. I succeed in removing his diaper and getting him squeaky clean but he escapes as I'm wrapping up the nuclear waste for disposal. I catch him again and wrestle him down to try to get the clean diaper on him but Bossypants comes to his aid by launching herself onto my back for an impromptu piggyback ride. Her elbow lands right about where the herniated disc in my neck is. Rules of engagement level three: "The subject initially demonstrates physical resistance. Use compliance techniques to control the situation. Techniques include: Come-along holds, Soft-handed stunning blows, Pain compliance through the use of joint manipulation, and the use of pressure points." Big check.
Time to get dressed. I gather clothes and begin humming the theme from Mission: Impossible. The TV show, not the sucky movie. I get Poopypants dressed without much trouble because by now his attention is fully on the Baby Einstein video I save for just such occasions. Bossypants sits by placidly while I dress her brother but jumps up and begins to run around the house like a drunk quarterback when she senses it's almost her turn. I grab her as she makes a pass through the living room and manage to tug her shirt on. I'm momentarily fooled by the fact that she's laying still, but the joke is on me because she's really reaching into my robe pocket to steal an inkpen. Clutching her prize, she kicks free of my grasp and runs off in pantless victory. I unconvincingly order her to "getoverhererightnowsoyoucangetdressed." She ignores me and continues to zigzag out of my reach. Ends by running into her bedroom and locking the door. Rules of engagement level four: "The subject may physically attack, but does not use a weapon. Use defensive tactics to neutralize the threat. Defensive tactics include: Blocks, Strikes, Kicks, Enhanced pain compliance procedures, Impact weapon blocks and blows." Check.
I retrieve the door key and extract Bossypants from her room. Notice that she has used the inkpen to draw vertical lines on each cheek. Looks suspiciously like war paint. About the time I finally convince her to put on pants she notices that I'm holding a hairbrush aka Instrument Of Torture. Bloodcurdling howls commence. I brush her hair despite the tearful pleading and am almost finished when she looks at me and utters words I've never heard from her before. "We not friends. I want a different mommy." I fall to the floor, dead of a broken heart. Rules of engagement level five: "The subject usually has a weapon and will either kill or injure someone if he/she is not stopped immediately and brought under control. The subject must be controlled by the use of deadly force with or without a firearm or weapon." Check. And the day is only half over.
About the Author
Ordinary stay at home mom (read as sleep deprived, highly caffeinated, and in need of a day off) with three young children. Self-professed beauty junkie with enough product to keep Pamela Anderson happily spackled for a decade or so. Beauty Sleeping (author's blog at http://beautysleeping.wordpress.com) is the daily stuff that makes her crazy, makes her laugh, or makes her cry. Sometimes all three at the same time.
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