I’ve had it. The whining, the boredom, the pouting, the endless excuses to not do what needs to be done, and that’s not even the children. I guess I need a good rant. It’s that or start drinking at 3:58 pm. Sounds a bit early, for a non-holiday day.
All the goodness with which the children were laden from Dec. 24 til, like, yesterday, sits idle in boxes and closets. Tissue paper, pine needles, dirty dishes, scads of laundry, dust balls, Werther’s wrappers, and those stupid foam peanut things litter my home. They stare at me, seemingly empty headed (the children, not the peanuts), begging for some form of entertainment? Whaa? Entertain you! With the list of Important Stuff I need to do, and roomsful of new crap for you to play with? Apparently, yes. Try the Droid builder I laid awake praying to snatch away from some unsuspecting guy in Sweden. Don’ wanna. Don’t wanna? What the…? How bout the new Legos, the puzzles, the books, the magnatex thingies?…done it, finished it, read them, don’wanna. What do they want to do? Watch TV. And more TV, and then a bit of TV. And when denied this privilege, they’ve countered with an all out assault of bickering, moaning, gritching, grabbing, heeeeee saaaaaaiddddd to meeeeeee, sheeeeeee toooooooook myyyyyyyyyy, maaaaaaaaaakkkkkkeeeeeee hiiiiiiiiimmmm stoooooooooppppp shelling that is coming scarily close to bringing down the Supreme Commander of the Big People’s 1st Battalion (Mr. Tango is Supreme Supreme Commander, and come with the privilege of getting to leave the house.).
Tried to undecorate the tree. 5 year old broke favorite new ornament of Catgirl, resulting is wailing heard throughout the town, and 5 year old matching it pitch and volume, in protests of “I didn’t meeeeaaaaaannnnnn tooooooooo”. Children are lounging on sofas and chairs, limp and glassy eyed, like those melted clocks of Salvador Dali, begging for the brain stimulation of media. Any media. Just don’t make me think! They appear to plead. I’ve been told I’m not as fun as A. My parents, B. Mr. Tango’s parents, C. Our babysitter (countered that with the little bomb that I pay her to play with them) and apparently D. The newly acquired selection of Animal Planet, Cartoon Network, or Disney. None of those people have to run my house! Just let SpongeBob take a crack at it!! I shot back.
I see the pattern every year. The more they are played with, read to, catered to, baked for, sure-I’ll-do-thated, the worse they become. And I’m just screwed if you throw in a few presents. A potato farm in the outreaches of Uzbekistan would do them more good. All the cheer and gift opening dies down, like slamming on the brakes doing 80, Daddy goes back to work, and here I am, like a young fawn (but holding her morning coffee) before a leering pack of hyenas. What are you going to do for us today, Mommy, what are you going to bake? What’s new today, Mother, where are we going to go? How many shows today, Mom, I’m soooo booooored, Mommy… The mere mention of pitching in with the clean up sends them shrinking back into the shadows. Enforcing the pitching in is like pulling off my fingernails, one by one. All the work, all the effort of the year, all the progress we’ve been so proud of, *POOF!*, obliterated in 14 days, give or take. And the start to my new year, with all it’s fine resolutions of productivity and weight loss, and spiritual contentment, begins to shake, shudder and slowly erode, as I sit here and TYPE and think about what chocolate I may be able to find leftover in the stockings, and it must be 5:00 somewhere in the world, bottoms up!
Maybe February, or sometime in March would be a better time to start anew. Especially for the weight loss portion of the deal. I’m this close (me, nearly pinching my fingers together) to marching right up the stairs and boxing every piece of plastic I see. I’ll show’em bored. And I’ll show how to LOVE folding the laundry. Don’t. tell. me. you’re. bored, I oughta…(censored). And stop lurking around the computer while I’m trying to get away from you all! OMIGOSH! Catgirl just appeared at my side, all pitiful and sad-eyed, asking to WATCH A MOVIE! Do they have hearing anymore? Was it totally squashed by too many rounds of Jingle Bells? Are there synapses firing up there in those supposed to be bright brains of theirs? Or are they blocked by sugar deposits? HAVE I NOT SAID THERE WILL BE NO MEDIA TODAY? Am I talking just to feel my lips flap???
I swear I’m gonna cancel all future events that include any indulgences whatsoever. And Blue Boy just walked through the room declaring that Christmas should be every day. Good lord, forget the glass, just pass the bottle.
