Five Good and Five Bad

OH the children, right now. The children.

I can see and understand that my kids are testing me and acting out because: they are starting school and change is scary and life is flux. The weather is hot and it is the age they are and they are sick of each other and asserting their independence and testing their attachment to me. The moon is almost full. They trust me not to sell them to the highest bidder, so I get all the crap. That’s a big one.

Anyway I know all the reasons but I don’t care anymore. Remember when I used to care? Those were the days. Let us take a moment and think of those days fondly. Hahahaha. “Post number 653”. n00b.

Testing behavior. I do not like it.

1. I do not like baby talk unless it comes from babies. I really don’t like it when it comes from children who have been talking in sentences for YEARS. “Me drink juice? Me eat applesauce?” No. I’m afraid that simply doesn’t cut it. I am famous * for having children who speak in essay format. I will not relinquish this dubious honour so early in my career.

* among several

Don’t fret; I am gritting my teeth and not reacting because the more you react the more they do it and my mother is fond of telling me about a kid I went to kindergarten with who gave his mother a nervous breakdown by talking in baby talk for an entire year.

No no no no no. I wanna be sedated just thinking about it.

2. I do not like potty humour. PERIOD.

Unless it is girl potty humour about periods. Even then, you must be a girl to engage in it, preferably one who bleeds blood (not blue water) so no. No no no no no. Also, if you refuse to put your excrement in anything but a diaper you are NOT ALLOWED to make jokes about said excrement. It is a privilege that comes with toilet use, Fresco, just saying, no reason. #nottalkingaboutit

3. I do not like red-faced bawling when a simple no-thank-you-I-don’t-care-for-carrots would do.

4. I do not like tantrums. Why must you do that? And hi, top tip, screaming at me that I should fall on the floor and hit my head and DIE is not the way to make me change my mind about you having a bath.

But thank you for your creative use of language and imagery, it is much preferred over the baby talk.

5. I do not like it when you change your mind about food that is awesome and eat only one thing for weeks. Trombone, you are down to Starch. That is your food group. Did you know there are several food groups? I know you know because I tell you every day.

It’s not like a totem thing. You can have MORE THAN ONE at a time.

Fresco. Seriously, dude. ITALIANS LIKE NOODLES. What is your problem?

But no, they’re not all bad.

1. I like that they are learning to bargain with each other (not always choosing to do it, but knowing how, nonetheless) and get what they want and need without screaming. And usually when I ask them to not scream, they stop.

2. I like that they are unfailingly polite and respectful with other adults and children to whom they are not blood-related. Also, they always speak in full sentences to people who are not me, so nice job on the gaslighting, kids.

3. I like that they make each other laugh nearly as much as they drive each other crazy. And that each has his own way of making the other laugh. Fresco, unsurprisingly, makes hilarious faces and Trombone, well, he makes jokes. Kid jokes. “What grade was the snail in at school? Grade SLIME!”

4. I like that I am their favourite girl. Their words, not mine.

5. I like that Trombone watched an entire episode of My Little Pony on TV the other day, and loved it, and told me that it was a great show and there was a bad guy and everything. I worried, a bit, when he told his best friend (who is a year older and who says “EWW GIRLS” whenever he sees one, except me since that time I took exception to it, which might explain how number 4 came about) how much he loved it, but his friend just said, oh yeah? Cool.

6. They’re good kids. They’re great kids, in fact. Here is some video evidence that I took last week, lying on the couch with my vapours. (The Rocky-playing card was a father’s day gift for Saint Aardvark)(neither child is a trained boxer)