Sunday, June 28, 2009

Tiny Terrorists

I recently realized that I live in fear of my children. They are like tiny terrorist who rule my house.

It occurred to me this morning as my darling husband was letting me sleep in. Next thing I know, I heard tiny foot steps in the hallway. Cue the suspense movie music. I pulled the covers up over my head and cowered until the footsteps subsided. Phewww! That was a close one.

In hindsight, this sort of thing happens all the time. Like at dinner time when I opened the fridge to discover, to my horror, that we were out of ranch dressing which the tiny terrorist put on just about everything. I cried out "Nooooooooooooooooooooo!" and then turned and said in a trembling voice, "I'm sorry, sweetie, we don't have any more ranch. Please don't send me to the cornfield." (Twilight Zone reference... Google it)

Don't get me wrong. They are good kids. But like everyone else, they have their triggers.

The other day, I went to get them cups of milk. They have sets of cups. Like the same kind of cup only his has trucks and hers has fish, or hers has princesses and his has dinosaurs, etc. My son freaks out when they don't have matching cups. Well, somehow I couldn't find both tops to any matching set. I was tearing the house apart frantically. I grabbed my husband and shook him "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MAN! WHERE'S THE TOP FOR THE BLUE DINOSAUR CUP?!?! WHERE?!?!?!" I live in fear.

If I come home from work and find out my 4-year-old didn't take a nap, cold shivers run down my spine. You see, when my daughter doesn't nap she turns from a sweet little angel into a fragile emotional basket case who is set off by the smallest thing, resulting in a crying tantrum the likes of which I've never seen. While we were on our cruise, we got called from one of the camp counselors because she was crying uncontrollably. We went to pick her up and it took nearly a half hour to calm her down, only to find out the cause of the fuss was that she didn't win at BINGO. The rest of the cruise we regarded the phone they gave us with terror, like a live grenade ready to go off (or ring, in this case) at any moment. I even took a picture of it as it sat ominously beside me on the table at dinner.



I've watched my husband plate pasta for them with flecks of herbs on it as I cringed. The words "I can't find Baby Bunny" (my daughters long-time lovey) are the stuff my nightmares are made of. My life is a constant struggle to maintain the perfect little universe my miniature masters expect, anticipating their every need, to avoid any "unpleasant incidents".

One could say it's a self-fulfilling prophecy, right? I mean, I could just say "Suck it up! So what if your cups don't match." or "Those are herbs. Eat it or go hungry." And, well, admittedly, sometimes I do but I've heard many people (parents and professionals, alike) utter a very wise phrase. "Pick your battles." Words to live by. If I try to keep the teeny tyrants happy, consequently, we'll all be happier. I pick my battles. They may think they are in charge but I am MOM and by God I'll win the war!!!

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