There are times when I look at my boys playing nicely together and I think, “Awwwww, aren’t they SO cute?” The last three weeks have been largely void of those moments. There has been arguing, tattling, screaming, crying and dramatic displays of “injury” inflicted by the other child that any actor (or NBA player hoping to draw a foul) could admire.
I swear if I hear, “Mommmmmmmmmmy!” shouted in a whiny, fingernails-on-a-chalkboard voice one more time, I’m going to lose it. I want to yell back, “I am not wearing a black and white striped shirt, I don’t have a whistle, and I don’t really care that he hit you after you threw a pair of pants on his head. You deserved it!”
Instead, I clench my teeth, suppress my scream reflex, ignore that my blood pressure has spiked and attempt to restore some semblance of harmony. On Friday night, my very mouthy eight-year-old son pushed me over the edge. I ended up yelling at him, which finally got him to stop talking back to me. In fact, he quit speaking to me completely, which was just fine with me.
Saturday morning started to look like the same old routine, so we did something different. We went for a family hike. (No, we did not leave them in the desert.) My husband walked with my younger son, and my older son stayed with me. To keep my older son occupied, we took pictures. Forty-seven pictures of nature as seen through the eyes of an eight-year-old. He narrowed the assortment down to seven favorites:
There was no whining, arguing or complaining during the hike. In the car ride home, the kids did not purposely do things to irritate the other. I don’t know if it was exhaustion from the four-mile hike or the soothing effects of the eighty-degree weather that made them so agreeable, but it gave me a much needed break from the constant fighting. It was the first time in nearly three weeks that I’d thought I just might survive this being a mom thing.
Thank goodness for drama-free moments.
Is your life a like a Broadway show or a leisurely stroll?