One Tough Mother

My day was like the Titanic's maiden and final voyage. It started out smooth sailing. No choppy waters or bad weather. Kids marched off to school. I had a great workout. Christian took a 3 hour nap. I got a lot of PTO work done. Cleaned the house a little. Sara did her homework and took a shower with no fuss. Paul was working late so I decided to give the kids a rare treat. I announced that we would eat dinner at Chick-Fil-A and they could play in the play area. Those who know me will understand that my germ phobia prevents the kids from EVER playing in those Petri dishes. I might as well reserve an ambulance and call them in sick to school right away. Brace yourself, folks. The iceberg is straight ahead and I'm steering right towards it. Before we even walked into the restaurant, I explained that they would listen, eat, not fight or we would leave immediately. As we approached the counter to place our order, one child touched another. A minor scuffle ensued. I broke it up and made the kids stand on either side of me. Problem solved? Nope. I quickly placed our order. As I reached into my wallet, they started fighting again. Aha! Perfect teaching moment. I apologized to the cashier, canceled our order and put my money back in my wallet. The kids looked at me with that deer caught in headlights expression. They were completely baffled when I grabbed their hands and said we were leaving sans food. I was proud of myself for seizing the opportunity to teach them a lesson. I warned them. I threatened them and got to carry it out. When I issue a threat (or promise), I carry it out. I mean business.

Sara goes to CCD. Christian and I go to his soccer class. Peace and sanity have been restored. Mostly. We come home, remove shoes, wash hands and eat some food. No back talk, no fighting. Maybe this ship won't sink tonight. Maybe we will be rescued off the iceberg. I put Sara to bed. I bathe Christian. I can see the rescue boat's headlights. I'm almost saved! Sara comes into the bathroom with claims of a bad dream. Being the fabulous and sympathetic mother, I tell her that her nightmare is just beginning unless she gets into bed and stays there. (It is rare for her to pop out of bed). I'm reading with Christian in his room. I'm climbing into the life boat, folks. I'll be a survivor...... Wait, why is Christian's door opening? Intruders? Aliens? Nope, Sara comes in, dragging her giant stuffed duck. "Mom, my duck's tail is ripped. The stuffing is coming out. Can you fix it?" I give her a death stare that sends her back to bed, leaving the duck on floor with a trail of stuffing. I tuck Christian in, complete the placement of his animals and blankets, kiss him and head for the door. I pick up the DOA duck and a thought finally strikes me. HOW did Sara know her duck was bleeding stuffing when she was supposed to be asleep? Busted! I go into her room to ask this and the answer is clear. Toys are spread everywhere. Desk drawers are open. The final clincher? Her guilty look. So, her duck will be in surgery and recovering for awhile before he can come home to her. She is in solitary confinement. I mean, she is tucked into bed, sleeping sweetly. At least, she better be.