Remember those fairy tales you would read as a kid? You know how everyone, nowadays, say how they messed us all up with all their “lived happily ever after” nonsense? The fairy tales weren’t a lie. They just didn’t tell the rest of the story. Well here is a part of the rest of the story.
A typical day at the Old Homestead:
SoHubby and I go upstairs to have a conversation. First we had to wrangle the smallest child off of SoHubby. As we run upstairs we shut the safety gate behind us. Safety gate meaning keeping the kids away from us for a few seconds to actually have a conversation, not safety gate to actually keep the kids safe. Our kids are older and should be able to navigate stairs without much trouble. However, we purposely didn’t teach Evie how to operate the gates and the older ones are too lazy unless it is something really important, like one of the others did them a injustice like look at them or breathe in their direction. Of course, the littlest one gives us her biggest guilt tool in her kit, the 4 yr old frown. Since she is number three in a series we have built up our immune to such tactics. SoHubby and I have a semi decent conversation, meaning there weren’t any interruptions from the small people in the house. As SoHubby leaves to take care of some business, I get distracted by the closets in the kids’ rooms. I guess I can’t ignore them, anymore. Someone is bound to threaten to call the authorities when the kids are wearing tank tops and shorts in 50 degree weather.
This should be easy, right? Just take out the clothes that are no longer seasonally appropriate and put in the ones that are. Sure, if you have children that don’t speak, have no opinion and are robots! Evie is easy. As long as it is pink, frilly and has some sort of princess or fairy on it she is all good. Amber is the difficult one. She likes going into her closet to access what she has, but then there are the disagreements. And by disagreements, I mean all out war. ”What do you mean you don’t like the shirt that still fits, but has a kitty on it? It is cute.” ”Mom, THAT IS SO BABY!!!” ”Fine! Save it for your sister. Maybe she won’t destroy my heart and wear what I pick out.” “YOU PICK UP SUCH BABY STUFF FOR ME!!!” As we move along to see what she has put into the donate pile and the pile to hand down to Evie, I find the pink jeans. THE PINK JEANS!! Yes, the pink jeans that Amber just had to have, but has never worn. Why? Why you ask? ”Because they fit weird, MOM!” The “disagreement” starts off calm with just the facts, like she asked for them. I made sure several times that she liked them and would wear them and haven’t seen them on her body since. The problem? At the time she wanted to get the jeans that fit so tight that she wouldn’t be able to sit down without the button flying off and causing a lawsuit in 2 weeks. So we get the size that was a little loose, so you know they would fit after 2 weeks. Then the tears start. ”Mom, they look so bad. Look at this! It looks weird when I sit!” ”PUT THEM IN YOUR CLOSET!! YOU ARE GOING TO WEAR THESE JEANS IF I HAVE TO SIT ON YOU AND PUT THEM ON YOU MYSELF!” ”FINE! You are so mean!!”
I should have stopped after that and called it a day, but I moved onto the boy. He should be easy, right? NO! Sam brings a whole set of other issues. First, he hates having to change clothes for the season. This is part of his “I hate change” thing. He would rather freeze and complain, then change from summer clothes to winter clothes. Rinse and repeat once summer arrives and he has to change from winter to summer. Then there is his wound. The open, gaping wound, which in reality is a scar that he some how keeps opening up over and over and needs a bandaid, because “it hurts so bad”. The simple movement of putting a shirt on causes him such great pain on this nonexistent wound that he must roll around on the floor for a few minutes, before he will remove the shirt. No different for the jeans I asked him to try on, which come no where near his wound. There was a moment of panic when he got stuck in a shirt that was a little too small for him. After he is released from diabolical shirt, he races downstairs, because I have done the unthinkable. Interrupt a Spongebob marathon!!
Next I decide, since I am in here, I will organize the dress up/costumes. Here is where I convene Amber and Sam to discuss what the hell everything is. Does this shield go with the St. Joan of Arc costume or the St. Michael the Archangel? Whose pants are these? Do they go with Aaiken Skywalker or some other character I didn’t know we had? Does this tutu go with this dance costume or this one? At this point, Amber is overtaken with the amount of tutus we have and gives up and lets me attach any tutu to any dance costume. Then Sam and I have the Jango/Bobo Fett argument all over again. Also, there is the search for the Clone Trooper’s helmet. How the hell do you lose a big white helmet? Oh and which gloves belong to which Superhero. Does Ironman have gloves? What do you mean Jango Fett has gloves? Then I crawl up into the bottom of the closet and remember the good old days when our parents didn’t care that we had costumes to go with our imagination. We did without and we liked it!
And people wonder why I walk into work looking the same as I did when I left on Friday, not refreshed and renewed for the week. I need a break from my “restful” weekend where I spent time with my family.