Thursday, October 9, 2008

Sixteen years of labor pains...

We are getting ready to go out of town. I am packing like a crazy woman. I scare my family. I frazzle easily during these times and find that at any given time my voice will go up to the point where only dogs will hear it.

Why? you ask. Because even though this is a FAMILY trip, the only member of the family actually DOING anything to get ready for it, is me. I plan the trip, I get the supplies we need, directions, make sure everyone has clean clothes, makes sure that the refrigerator will not have things growing in it by the time we get back, Ladies, you know what I'm talking about. So, last night began the packing ritual. The 16 year old got his own clothes together (with some argument over what was acceptable and what was not) and then I packed for the 8 year old as well as myself and my husband. Before going to bed last night, I TOLD the 16 year old what was going to be required of him for today. Since I was going to be at work for the better part of the day, house cleaning was the only thing on his agenda. NOT schoolwork, NOT ancient Chinese torture, but just his usual chores. My final words to him were "Please do NOT wait until 1:00 to do this stuff. I want it all done by the time I get home at 2:00." Which was met with "No problem."


Liar, liar.

Oh, do I smell smoke because somebody's PANTS ARE ON FIRE!!!

The boy called me at around 11:30 to ask for praise. "You should be proud of me!" he beams. "I'm always proud," I respond. "Yea, right," he said. He then goes on to tell me how he made himself some eggs and then realized that he had used them all up and that I would be needing them to make dinner tonight so he walked over to the convenience store and bought me a dozen eggs with his own money. Sigh. I really and truly WAS proud. Then he goes on to tell me that as it is now approaching lunch time, he was thinking of going out and grabbing himself a bite to eat at the local diner. Now I get suspicious. "So with all of this cooking, eating and planning to eat," I say, "Have you done ANY of your chores?" Without missing a beat, he says, "Oh, yeah, the living room is all clean, I've done the laundry..." To which I interject, "Have you been folding it as you go?" "Yes."


Liar, liar.

Liar, liar, liar.

I got off work early today. Bless you, Michelle! I got home a few minutes before 1:00. I walk in to a living room that looked EXACTLY as I left it this morning, laundry on the dining room floor (the only folded clothes were those that I had folded this morning), the sink is full of dishes, his room is a disaster area, the TV is on and I hear music coming from the bathroom. I truly deserve some sort of trophy for not turning this scene in to a homicide. So I start banging around and he comes out and announces that I scared him. Baby, if you think me banging some drawers is scary, hold on to your freakin hat, because mom's about to blow.

I yelled, I screamed, I reminded him of our conversation last night and it turns out that my husband had the same EXACT conversation with him this morning. And he didn't even KNOW about my comments last night. Scary. The boy looks at me as if I have no right to say a word to him. His excuse? "I thought you were going to be home at 2 so I was going to start at one."

(Insert homicidal maniac music here while you say "Oh, no he didn't!)

So now at the screeching, dog ear splitting tone I remind him yet AGAIN of our conversation and he huffs at me and then yells at me to stop yelling at HIM! Seriously, a trophy would be nice. We go round and round (while he makes himself comfortable on the couch - and STILL not picking a thing up) and somehow he truly believes that HE is the wronged party here.

He is grounded now. His phone is mine for the extent of the trip. He told me NO to that too but I do believe that he does not realize that it is I who has the power, NOT him. I feel so sick to my stomach right now that it feels like labor pains!

Somehow, I don't think there's a shot of Demerol big enough to help with this pain!

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