I’m On The Phone!


     If I ever need to get the attention of my kids, I swear all I need to do is attempt to make a phone call.  They could be completely oblivious to the fact that I’m even in the house, but the minute I pick up the phone, they are all over me.  Someone’s tattle telling, fighting, taking a poop, singing, crying, and, in general, just misbehaving, all while I’m trying to carry on a civilized conversation with the person on the other end of the line.  

     Just yesterday, when I was trying to make an appointment over the phone, my son decided that was the absolute minute he needed to play Uno with me.  I must’ve told him a hundred times that I’d have to play later, but it didn’t seem to register with him even one little bit. He went ahead and dealt out the cards anyway.  Every time I’d walk around the corner to another room to be able to hear better, here he’d come with my cards, whining about it being my turn.  How could it be my turn when I wasn’t even playing in the first place??!!  

     I’ve tried everything from forewarning them before making a call to hiding in a closet.  NOTHING WORKS!  They always find me!  I thought it would get better as they got older, but it most certainly is not.  In fact, I think it might even be worse.  I feel so incredibly rude when I constantly have a three ring circus going on in the background of a serious phone conversation.  It is a real challenge to focus on something when your twins are using you as the free space in their obnoxiously loud game of tag.

     I’m at a loss and could use some serious advice.  Somebody out there MUST have some ideas in their back pocket, other than opening up a good can of whoop ass.  So, what do you do to preoccupy your clan while making phone calls?  Do tell….


Morning From Hell

     You know you’re not off to a good start when you’re ready to call it a day, and you realize that it’s only 9:15 in the morning. Unfortunately for me, this was how my Monday began today, thanks to the extreme stubbornness of my son.  The little dude pushed every one of my buttons this morning, making both he and his sister late for school and me ready to lose my mind.

     It all began with a ridiculous argument while my twins were brushing their teeth.  Apparently, calling someone “poophead” is grounds for war. There was a standoff, followed by some tears, followed by some tattle-telling.  My son was pissed that my daughter ratted him out, and therefore, refused to do anything anyone asked him to do from that point on.  

     My daughter was already in her coat and out the door before my son had even waddled down the upstairs hall to make his bed.  Since our Wii is currently being repaired, I threatened to take away my only other bargaining tool — computer time.  I was already about to count to three before he finally gave in and made his bed, but then he refused to come down the stairs to put on his shoes and backpack. When I told him that he’d just lost computer time, that pushed him right over the edge.  He slithered to the floor like a snake and began to wail.  Because my blood was about to boil right out of my skin, I had to walk out of the house to take deep breaths.  We were already five minutes late for school.  

     Once I had regained a smidgen of my composure, I marched up the stairs to scoop my son from the floor, shoved his shoes on his feet, stuffed his arms into his jacket and dragged him and his backpack to the car. Several neighbors just stared at me in either horror or confusion, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming at them to piss off.  When we finally got to the school, I couldn’t get my son to take off his seatbelt OR get out of the car.  By this point, my heart was racing, and I was sweating like a pig.  For the love of God, what did I do to deserve this??!!  

     I had to unbuckle him and once again, schlepp him and his damn backpack all the way from the car to the nurse’s office to sign him in late. I had to laugh out loud when I got to the part on the sign in sheet that asked the reason for the tardiness.  I wondered how I was supposed to explain the entire events of the morning in a tiny little two inch box.  I simply wrote “LATE” and left it at that.  If the nurse really wants to hear about our reason, I’d be glad to review the whole ordeal with her over drinks at happy hour….