So I haven't written anything funny in a while. My funny meter has been hovering around 5% funny. In retrospect I suppose most of what happens to me is entertaining on some level, but while it is happening it isn't so funny.
Like this morning on the way to Aquarium Camp my 5 year old from the back seat, says "Mom stop talking!" I said, "That's no way to talk to your mother." And he said, "Do you want a spankin' mom? 'Cause if you keep talkin' you're gonna get one."
Why me? Because I talk too freaking much! Every morning I pray to not yell and to watch my mouth around my children. It's not working. Either I'm too damned hardheaded to listen to God or God finds me entertaining.
On our way out of Aquarium camp after pick up, I started cussing the car in front of me. I stopped myself just in time. "What's F mom?"
"Nothing, buddy I just stopped myself from saying something ugly."
"No you didn't. You said F. So you really did say it." Honest to Pete, can I get a louder conscience?
I love my son. But he drives me bananas. He's always on his own time table. He never listens to me unless I'm at the top of my decibel register. AND he's a parrot. EVERYTHING I have ever said to him comes back to me--and a lot of stuff I haven't said that he picked up on.
Like this morning, he asked me why I was doing something and I said, well because I like it and he said, "You're just odd mom." WTF?? I didn't know he knew that word. Did he get the context right by accident? Seriously.
And to top it all off, I have another little smarty britches in training, my almost two year old really didn't like my singing along to his nursery tunes yesterday. "Yush! yush! YUSH. Mama YUSH!" he yells from his carseat in the back.
"Tell me to hush one more time you little snookums and I'm gonna pull this car over and give you the what for." I said laughing. I couldn't help myself. But I don't know that it was really funny that my 2 year old told me to hush.
Maybe I need to duct tape my mouth closed for a day and see what happens. Between my hot temper and my mouth with no check on it, I'm in deep doo doo. And I'm so sick of these parenting books that tell me to stay calm and think rationally and count to ten. WHO DOES THAT? And not get on their level--obviously the people writing these books either have some sort of St. Theresa mommy gene or else they never spent the day with two wild boys who are really fast and really damn smart.
Maybe I should never have had children. After I get done yelling and they get done yelling, we all feel much better. We get a snack and move on. It's fine. This is probably not a good thing, but I am me and me is loud and me is short tempered and me is one hell of a holy yeller, hand slammer, thing thrower. I cannot for the life of me put a stop to it. The boys just look at me with big eyes and wait for the storm to pass. Is it any wonder my two year old is terrified on thunderstorms? (Of course I'm a big wuss when it comes to storms, so maybe he inherited it, I don't know.) I've been trying for 5 years now to put a lid on it, but it's like trying to jam a frying pan lid on a stock pot. They aren't interchangeable lids. I'll try harder. After all, like my 5 year old says, "It's okay mom, we'll just try it again tomorrow, right?"
Bless them. They forgive 70 times 7 and then some.