The Golden Rule

I like to think of myself as a fairly calm, rational and reasonable person. I like to think that I am kind and giving. I like to think of myself as a halfway decent mother and role model. So, why, in the name of all that is good and holy, do my kids do nothing but fight with each other? And, why, does my almost 4 year old turn into Napoleon when other children enter our home? So, this prayer is for them: Dear beloved children, I love you. I adore you. I only want what is best for you in this world. So, why do you doubt me at every turn and try my patience? Trust me when I say that you are not warriors fighting to save your people or land. You are fighting over toys, books, space, food, etc. You are not fighting for the greater good. You are fighting for no apparent reason other than to see what shades of red Mommy's face can turn or how funny she can make her voice. Jesus teaches us to treat others the way we would like to be treated. Christian, my only beloved son, when you scream at every child who dares to cross our threshold and snatch toys from their unsuspecting hands like they hold the last morsel of food, you are not following the Golden Rule. You, in fact, are acting like a little savage who was raised by wolves who don't know any better. I try to live by example. I treat my friends and guests with kindness and courtesy. I offer them food and drink. I chat with them. I graciously loan them anything they might need, want or enjoy. I have even been known to glady give people things that I think might give them pleasure just because I like them. I do not sneak up from behind, pluck things from their hands and run away. Trust me when I promise you that our guests are not closet cat burgers, kleptomaniacs, or wild savages determined to break, steal or destroy any of your possessions. They have no ulterior or nefarious motives for coming over. They just want to play with you and your cool stuff. We will not give them away or let them leave with your precious Legos or Transformers. Sara, my first born, I know your friends and my friends' kids. They are kind, sweet, well-mannered kids. They do not enter your room with the secret malicious intent of destroying everything you hold most dear. I promise, with God as my witness, they will not decapitate your American Girl doll or cut off your American Girl horse's head and put it in your bed as a Sicilian message. When I offer food and drink, you can have faith that there is plenty to go around. I cannot pull a Jesus with the fishes and loaves but I will not run out before you get your share. I pray that the next time we can convince someone to come over to break bread with us that you stop and think about Jesus and the Golden Rule. Because if I do not see an improvement in your behavior towards each other and our small guests, you will need all the help Heaven can provide and pray to God and Jesus because you will be punished until the Second Coming. To my patient and tolerant friends and guests, I beg and pray that you will keep giving my children a chance to redeem themselves. I am trying to raise decent, compassionate human beings. I am not exactly sure why the devil possesses them anytime anyone visits. Know that I am trying to have the patience of Job with them but but it's not easy. And, let's face it, even he would have gotten annoyed at their antics. I can't build an Arc. I can't walk on water or turn it into wine. All I want to do is turn the little devils into little angels. So, keep praying for me and my mission impossible. Moses got across the desert faster than message is getting to my kids. Signed, Your loving and annoyed mother, Your embarrassed and humiliated friend