| Home > Journal > It's That Time Year...Glue Gun On Constant Warm Standby and Coffee and Scotch in Arm's Reach at All Times OR Why Silent Night Won't Be Our Theme Song This Year |
| It's That Time Year...Glue Gun On Constant Warm Standby and Coffee and Scotch in Arm's Reach at All Times OR Why Silent Night Won't Be Our Theme Song This Year | | Date Created: Dec 06, 2007, 04:01 PM |
Christmas is coming on strong over here and the boys are all too willing to help. Baby Jesus keeps being kidnapped from my nativity set and it's a miracle he hasn't been stepped on yet and shattered into a thousand pieces. Not unlike one of the few Christmas ornaments I have that I actually like, three santas that remind me of my three boys sitting on each others shoulders made out of that very thin very fragile metallic-type glass. George spent literally two hours looking through the box of ornaments. At first I told him he could only touch the ones not wrapped up in tissue paper. But he was so meticulous and so careful I didn't say anything when he began to peek into the wrapped ones in order to "just see which ones in there," or when he moved on to completely unwrapping them and holding them up to the light and turning them this way and that studying every detail. I was so impressed by his interest and his apparently sincere attempts to be careful. But the next morning I noticed the three santas ornament was broken. I was pretty mad because I had told him not to touch the ones in tissue paper even though I had technically gone soft on enforcement. I told him in a stern voice at breakfast that I was very sad because that ornament belonged to me and now it was broken and had to be thrown in the trash. When I asked him what happened to it, he first said with his palms upwards in exaggerated dumfoundedness, "It's a mystery!" Then he said John did it, but when I asked John if he'd done it, John didn't cry, scream, run from the room, or curl up in a ball on the floor, so I knew it wasn't him. James had had little interest in the ornaments from the start and George didn't even bother accusing him. I asked George again if he'd done it and he said, and these are his exact words, "I rolled it out of the paper and I saw it and I says I'm gonna take care of this for Momoe." So I asked him how then it got broken. John suggested during the night it rolled off the sofa and broke all by itself. George still hasn't confessed. It's SO hard to be mad at that rascal.
Stripesey continues his campaign for sainthood. Apparently he's taken a seasonal job at the North Pole helping Santa wrap presents. "He's a busy little zebra," George told me. Today my mom and sister took the guys to lunch and apparently George tried to run out the door before everyone else was ready to leave. I think it scared my mom and sister how quickly he darted away and when he saw/heard the dismay from my sister and mother he started to cry. My sister told me she said, "That's okay, we know you know better and you won't do that next time," or something like that. And George said back through his tears, "I only know animals."
This morning I was the one having a temper tantrum. Lately my frustration has been building from the fact that every day from sun up to sun down, I have three little people yelling in my face. They must say my name 6,000 times a day. Momoe, John hit me! Momoe, my hands are sticky! Momoe, can I have a snack? Momoe, where do mooses live? Momoe, there's a little poop in my pants! Constant! And I am unfortunately the type of person who craves calm, quiet, and solitude, and the boys literally in-your-face demands are an extremely effective torture device. The other day my mom helped me and the boys put up outdoor ornaments in the trees in our front yard. They really do look cute! But putting them up was a touch hairy. The ornaments come in several colors and then some are long twisted iridescent ones that turn in the breeze and catch the light. So there I was, on the very very very top of a ladder with human bumper cars doing their thing around the base of the ladder and yelling, let's use this yellow one, I like the red one, this one needs a string, this one needs a hook, does this one need a hook, not there, Momoe, not that one, this one, more red ones, where'd the hook go, I'm stuck and the whole time I'm seriously considering which branch I should grab and swing from should the ladder be knocked out from underneath me. By the end we had to cut everyone out of the Guinness Book of World Records length of fishing line and will probably be finding ornament hooks in the yard for the next ten years. Anyway, my original point was that all the yelling even when it's happy yelling is starting to fray my nerves and this morning I told Will so. He didn't have all that much to say about it since what can you really do to make it better? But I felt completely unheard, like no one was listening to me and I kicked a pile of neatly stacked coat hangers (you know it wasn't me who'd stacked them since I've never neatly stacked anything that can just as easily be sloppily strewed). I laughed at myself right afterwards (inwardly at least) because I knew my acting out was so childish, but for that one second I felt exactly what the boys must feel when they kick or throw a toy at the wall. I know what I want and no one is letting me have it! Give me what I want!
So after my tantrum I felt a little better. I wouldn't say Will's talk to them about not asking me so many questions and not bothering me has helped, but at least I got to blow off a little steam. And my mom picked the guys up from school today and had them for a couple of hours, and so I did get a little alone-time which goes a short way. I'm in denial about the boys having a Christmas break, but there's no need to face the inevitable until it is inevitably upon me. I hope your holiday preparations are going well and you are able to face whatever in-your-face-screaming demons you may have as your constant companions. I'm sure I'll have more seasonal mishaps to report before long and I'm looking forward to all the boys' help decorating the tree. Right...
PS This is what it looks like when we attempt a Christmas card picture. |
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