"She wiped Mosquito Blood on Me! MOM!!!"

It's 6:30 pm and I just put my kids to bed.

The neighbor kids are racing by the window on their bikes as we speak.

 I don't even care.

Today was void of happy, shiny, blissful moments. Today I felt like a Walmart parent. NOT the abusive Walmart parent. That's another post (rant) entirely. More like the one that doesn't know how to control her kids. You know the type I'm talking about. Don't act like you don't.

The afternoon started with a full on, balls to the wall, holy crap who's-kid-are-you type temper tantrum. Let me give you the play by play:

I needed to drop some movies off at Redbox, which is located by a Walgreens near our house. Sassy Girl asks if we can go in and get a snack because they are obviously near starvation. My response was no. We have crap at home.

Little Dude chimes in with a slew of very loud "I'm hungrys" mixed with whining about how I never listen to him. I try to redirect him with, "Look we are almost home! Start counting and let's see how long it takes to get home." Sassy Girl messes with his counting gig by talking over top of him. Little Dude gets pissed and DEMANDS that I stop the car, put it in reverse, and go back to the exact spot where he initially started counting. Are you kidding me, kid?? 


When I didn't comply with his ridiculous demands...full blown tantrum ensued. Little Dude takes anger out on  Sassy Girl by "punching" her in the arm, so she retaliates by wiping "mosquito blood" on him. Classy. 

I can't even say "Don't make me pull over" because that is exactly what Little Dude wanted me to do in the first place.

Pull into the driveway and Little Dude is freaking out about the fact that I didn't go back to his counting starting line. (OCD??) 


I ask him to get out of the car and he proceeds to stand in the driveway and scream his little lungs out in frustration. I leave him outside for a minute and then take pity on our neighbors and go out to try and talk this psycho kid off his tantrum ledge.

This proves unsuccessful, and I pick up the child, who immediately does that jerk move of turning into a limp noodle. Kicking and screaming, somehow we make it inside. My shirt is stretched out and I have a scratch on my cheek. I swear something possessed my child. The "I didn't take a nap Mommy" demon. 


This tantrum is quelled with a time out. But the night is full of bickering between the children and:

I. Can't. Take. Much. More.

Schedule plan now:

4:45: Dinner served

5:20: Baths

6:00: Stories

6:30: FRICKEN BEDTIME!

Sassy Girl can tell time, but she is not at the point yet where it has much of an impact on her. She still goes by the routine rather than the time.

So, while they are still young, my ninja skills of bumping the routine up an hour still work.

Still...This post took an hour and a half to write BECAUSE:

*She's kicking me!

*He's copying me!

*She's being mean!

*Mom!

*MOM!

*MOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!


GO TO BED!

"Just you wait until your father gets home...."