Ten years, three kids... still can't figure them out

I have three good kids. Healthy, bright, well-liked, funny (and Lord knows I love the funny), and sweet. But I still want to stuff them into duffel bags at least once a week.

I want to, but I don't. I don't have enough duffel bags. Guess I should have stopped at two.

Tonight, I lost my mind one brain cell at a time. It was that slow. I wasn't harried, or frantic, or loud. I just knew, as the clock crept inexorably toward way past their bedtime, that I would be a husk of a woman by nine. It actually happened by 7:45.

Home from school? Homework time! In my world, that is. I have never had such a hard time getting that to happen. Usually they want it over with so they stand a chance of extra snuggle time, maybe even in front of a movie. Tonight my eldest spent, altogether, three and a half hours doing thirty minutes' worth of work. He assured me it would take five once I hinted at a new DVD, but as five dissolved into forty, I slipped it back into its case. I kid you not when I say it took fifteen minutes for him to even notice.

The five year old doesn't have homework on Mondays, so instead she wanted me to paint her fingernails.

"Not now, sweetheart, I'm sewing something and don't want to get it all messy."

"Then just let me do yours!"

"Um, no."

Freakage.

The middle child (you already know what's coming when people use the label) (especially when you hear the organ music playing in their heads) had homework, but as his is actually on a per-week basis, there is no real need to get snickety about it on Monday. He's to do a bit each day and have it all done on Thursday, which is Daddy's day. Therefore, he spent the interminable hours before dinner and bed singing the NEE-NEE-NEE-NEE song, dancing like a deranged leprechaun, and chasing his sister with scary faces. Now, this happens every day, but usually subsides after a couple of shushes and The Look of Death. Not tonight.

It. Would. Not. Die.

"DYLAN! Everyone hates that song! It's not just mom, we hate it too! Arrrrghh!" The nine year old was beside himself. Daphne just wept and clutched my sweater. So, I went quiet.

The kids know what it means when I go quiet. I tell them that they are on their own; I have provided guidance, dinner, and bath setup. I have advised homework and civil behavior. However, I am not interested in selling goods to small people who aren't in a buying mood. Daphne was the first to catch on, and ran to tell her brothers.

"Guys! Mom just said that you can do whatever you want, and that she is going to do what she wants. She's REALLY MAD." The water polo game in the tub stopped for about three and a half seconds before it started up again.

Right. I poured myself a glass of Lillet.

One full hour before bedtime, I broke silence to say that it was time to drain the tub, put on jammies, and go to bed. Or, they could play in their rooms and then go to bed. Or whatever.

"Can we talk?"

"Just close the door."

"No tuck in?" I looked at him. "Just thought I'd ask."

Just before 8:30, our standard lights-out time, my middle son came in to say that he loved me and that he hopes I have a good sleep. I looked at him and said, "How can I believe that?" He was perplexed. "You were totally out of control for half the night, and refused to mind, and even when I fined you five pieces of Halloween candy for tripping your sister and breaking a promise, you never stopped annoying everyone. Plus, you still haven't paid up."

"But I'm sorry."

"That's good, thank you. That's a good start for tomorrow. Have you decided which pieces of candy you're giving up?"

Small voice: "No."

He slunk away to bed. Later, when I went to tuck them in, knowing that they would stay awake until I did, they perked up, quiet and alert, hoping for a real tuck-in, complete with blankets heaved over their shoulders, Protective Kisses, and Power Snuggle before wishing them good night. They were totally in love with me, and rapt with the rituals, and their eyes followed my every move. "I'll always take care of you, Mommy," my middle child said.

Go figure.

-- Mindy Roberts is author of The Mommy Blog

 See more of my contributions at the Code Orange Group.