Spinning

This day is going to draaaaag, I just know it. How? It's only 10:45 and I'm already bored and fidgeting in my seat. The boss is here, hovering at times, and I have absolutely nothing to do.

Could be dragging because I know I have plans tonight. With actual real live women. Yes, a Mary Kay facial party. I'm not picky.

I also have a surprise day planned by my best good friend for Saturday. She's calling it "Diva Day" and is picking me up at 8 am. I have no idea what's in store for me, but I'm hoping it has something to do with pampering and perhaps a strapping young buck serving me food. Or anything to get me away from my kids for a bit.

Again, not picky.

Right now I am dealing with a typical 2 year old whose favorite words are "mine" and "no" sometimes combined in the same sentence. Her favorite activity is to run away from me while pretending not to hear and then returning with what she obviously feels is a charming smile. I'm not so charmed. It's rare to hear her speak without a whine in her voice with a demand following it.

The 8 year old is really utilizing his independent streak and, added to the need to question everything, that is driving me absolutely bat shit.

Yesterday included these little tidbits:

It's "Right to Read" week in our school and yesterday was Pajama and Stuffed Animal day. My son has never been one for stuffed animals so we were a little hard pressed to find one for him. I told him he couldn't take the Princess' "Teddy" so he settled for a Beanie Baby named "Batty". Keep in mind that I've had this thing since he was a baby and he has never played with it. It ended up in a bin underneath the Princess' bed and is rarely seen.

Oh, but yesterday a battle was waged. Suddenly she wanted it. It was "my bat my bat my BAT!" Trying to remain patient and calm, I explained that he was going to take it to school and bring it right back so she could play with it. Yes, you guessed it: she could have given a shit. Screams followed.

You'd think he would have had the sense to at least hide it and keep it out of her sight, yes? Oh, no, not so simple. When coming up the stairs he held it tightly to his chest, not even bothering to cover it up with his hands. It couldn't have been more visible if we had pinned it to his shirt. More screams, both from her and me at this point.

This was all before 8 am.

I pick him up first after work and I ask him politely to please let her play with Batty. He responds with, "Well, I could just hide it so she doesn't see it!"

Uh, no, let her play with it. You had it all day and all she wants is to hold it. Again, his answer is to hide it. He's holding it out the window pretending that it's flying. I'm hoping at this point that the damned thing falls out of his hands and I won't go back for it.

"No, let her have it," I say, trying to keep my voice even, "I don't get it, you've never played with this thing before...why do you want it so badly now?"

"I've played with it lots," he replies as wind whips through his hair and Batty flies beside the van.

"Just give her the bat!" I finally say.

Upon strapping her in her seat, I reach around and give her the beloved (?) stuffed animal. She is overjoyed and all is well in the world.

Until she says the doomed, "my bat my bat" in a cheerful little voice.

"Actually," the Boy says to his happy little sister, "it's my bat."

Now, keep in mind that I was driving and I didn't actually see the demon enter my car but it's obvious it's there as she screams, "NO MY BAT MY BAT MY BAT!!!!"

Fuck me running.

I still had to drive home, make dinner, deal with my spastic dog, and talk to my husband. I'd been off work less than an hour. And yesterday was 85 degrees.

And? No alcohol in the house.

Again with the fuck me running.

Okay, made it through dinner with only a few pleads and whines and was enjoying watching my kids and husband play outside. The Boy then asked me to give him something to do. I told him to run really fast down to our neighbors (Diane and Charlies, 2 doors down) and back 3 times and I would time him.

"Well, could I run to that car down there?" He points to a car I can't see.

"Is it past Diane's house?" I ask him.

"Well, yeah, but I could I run there instead?"

"Are you allowed past Diane's house?"

"Well, it's just right there!"

"Yes, but is it past Diane's house?"

"Yes, but I can run there!"

"No, you cannot. Either you run to Diane's house or you don't run at all." I'm losing my patience at this point. In my mind, he asks me to give him something to do, I give him an assignment and all he can do is question it.

Okay, so he gives in and runs a few sprints. He comes back and asks to do something else. I suggest jogging one block with Daddy (see, it's my subtle way of getting my husband to do a bit of exercise, too...evil evil wife.) He excitedly agrees.

Until he realizes that jogging is a slow run. In the 45 seconds it takes them to get to the stop sign and halfway back, he has gotten bored and wants to runrunrun! I hear him start howling (which is his version of crying) and I'm baffled. What in the hell has happened in under a minute and right in front of me that is causing him such grief?

His dad told him to just jog. Yes, I too wanted to call Children's Services right then and there! The balls on this man!

See, my son has gotten into the very bad habit of doing whatever he wants when we're around. It's especially bad because my husband is both his soccer and baseball coach. So while he is trying to teach all of these 6-8 years the fundamentals while also trying to keep their attention, our son is goofing off. It's frustrating as hell.

So he's howling and yelling and tears are flowing and his heart is just absolutely broken! What's a good mom like me do? I told him to shut his mouth and go inside because I didn't want to hear it.

Yes, I did.

I'd had it. I could take no more whining, no more demands. If I heard one more peep come out of this child's mouth I was going to lose it. The Princess just looked at me. I think she knew not to give me anymore shit that night.

We ended up having a little "talk" after he'd had a shower and was told that no, you don't get dessert and no, I won't be reading to you in bed. He was not a happy camper.

But, as the saying goes, "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." Deal with it.

To say I'm looking forward to some "me" time is the understatement of the year.

I wonder if wherever my bgf is taking me has IVs flowing with vodka?