These days it seems I’m constantly on the edge of losing my sanity. Oblivious parents in carpool lines (pull forward, people!), pets vomiting charcoal on new carpet (long story), untamable locks that refuse to stay smooth even after intense flat-ironing (stupid red hair!) … no, it doesn’t take much for acute hypertension to set in and the obscenities to come out. But lately, the thing that’s really been chapping my rear is my children’s constant complaining about each other.
This morning for example, as I was beginning my carefully-designed “Getting Ready” routine (incorporating all things introverted including but not limited to low lights, silence, and orange-mango juice), one of my daughters barged into my bathroom with “Mommy! Maddie stole my curling iron and I got up early to curl my hair and you have to do something about her taking my things without asking and never returning them and now what am I supposed to do?”
Last night, as I actually lie in bed trying to sleep, the same kid flung open the door, jumped on the bed and said, “Mom. Can I just tell you what Andrew said to me because he is not being nice and acting just like Geoffrey saying mean things and not caring about my day and completely ignoring me and he is supposed to be my brother.”
Last week? My twins were online checking their grades, and I hear, “Maw-um! Geoffrey’s failing two classes. You’d better ground him!” Then shortly thereafter from the youngest wails, “Corinne’s pressing my buttons! She’s rolling her eyes! She didn’t do the dishes! She’s a big brat! She’s … ” and so on.
Where’s the love? Where’s the “I’ll scratch your back if you’ll scratch mine?” Why can’t they just love each other? I get it, I honestly do. I grew up in a house with four sisters and only one bathroom. We were constantly fighting and narc-ing each other out to our parents. But that was back before personal electronics; we had a ton of free time to fill. What better way to spend an afternoon than by plotting to bring down the spoiled four-year-old?
These days though, there’s absolutely no reason for my kids to be hating on one another. And if there is, then I don’t want to hear about it! Part of me wants to instigate Fight Club and just let them settle matters old-school style; cage-match it out until someone concedes. At least then I wouldn’t have to endure the incessant whining that seems to constantly bombard me.
Bottom line? I have enough things in my life to make me crazy; I don’t need my kids to be one of them. Peace out.