Pulling into the driveway after dropping the kids off at school this morning, I was ready to scream. You’d think I’d be fixing myself a mimosa after two weeks of entertaining them non-stop (extended spring break, courtesy of yours truly).
It started off so well, too. I got up early, made healthy breakfasts, fixed lunches and was ready to leave by 7:40 so we could walk to school—the first time since last fall, now that it had finally warmed up.
I was dressed, dog poop bags in hand. That's when Charming Baby couldn't find his backpack or sweatshirt. God bless him, he got the critical stuff—he had his lunch and reading homework, and every hair on his Justin Bieber-looking head in place. I tried to be patient and decided I would drive them and spend the extra time helping him retrace his steps….Dad’s car, my car, his bedroom…
“Sam! This is why you are supposed to hang them on the hooks, so you always know where your things are.”
The backpack was up in his room, still there from after a hiking trip over break. Sweatshirt was M.I.A. He ran around with the Professor a lot over the weekend so who knows where it was.
Finally at 7:53 (school bell rings at 8:00), I say, “Forget it, you’re wearing your fleece pullover.” His eyes storm over and he won’t look at me. It is now my fault he doesn’t have his favorite soft hoodie.
I see a pile of dog poop and a puddle of pee on my way to the car.
“Charlie, did you take Huck out last night before you went to bed?”
“No, sorry, I forgot.”
First Born Prince doesn’t forget. He has a mind like a steel trap. He was trying to use what his cute little brother has as a convenient excuse for poor choices. I know he watched a movie last night and I guessed he was tired and decided to just go to bed, gambling on Huck’s ability to hold it in.
“You know it’s not fair to me or Huck. Now I have a dirty floor to deal with and the poor dog feels bad because he knows it’s wrong to go in the house.”
I was ticked off and gritting my teeth. I didn’t want my first good-bye after a fun spring break to be, “You’re gonna pay for this!” as I screeched off out of the school parking lot. So I settled for, “We’ll discuss this later” in a very bitchy tone.
I came home and decided to write up some responsibility charts and make a list of consequences for behaviors that aren’t acceptable. The consequences stumped me. It seems there is very little maneuvering room, really. No TV, early bedtime. Big deal, they like to read. Can’t take away books. I think that might be illegal. It felt good to channel my frustration but also began the cycle of self-talk that is the very reason I am in this position.
Poor little guys. First day back to school after two weeks. I should go easy.
Wrong answer! Buck up or you’ll be their personal valet for another 10 years!
I looked at my pathetic little summary of what was wrong (you didn’t practice guitar once over break!) and thought maybe I was crazy.
Perhaps I should dust off that guitar and leave First Born Prince at home to clean dog poop this afternoon while I go take his lesson.
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