February 09, 2016
So I've been waiting for something to...you know, HAPPEN before firing up the blog-o-thing, but um. It's been day after day of vast, boring nothingness.
The children were SUPPOSED to go back to school today after a stretch of conference/professional days, but ha ha ha haaaaaaa (plz continue until you reach a satisfying level of maniacal-ness), it's snowing again and school is canceled. Again.
(Are the streets fine? The streets are fine.)
I made the boys pack lunches last night in a fit of optimism while Jason pulled the cars into the garage and laughed at me. "They so aren't going to school tomorrow, babe," he informed me while I curled up on the couched and growled at him like a feral cat.
There's not enough snow to play in, it's too cold and wet to play basketball or ride bikes. I've been desperately trying to limit screen time for reasons I've lost track of (something about...brains? eyeballs? motherly fascism?), which makes it deliciously ironic that I am sitting here in front of a screen, getting interrupted LITERALLY EVERY SEVEN WORDS by whining children.
"NOAH TOOK MY TAKANUBA POHATU KUBACCA!" Ike shrieks, as if I know:
1) What the FUCK that even is, sounds Bionicle-y?
2) Who actually has ownership rights on this particular plastic mash-up of identical-looking pieces, and
3) Any better sharing-issue intervention strategy than to take Takanuba Matoran Q-Backa-Wacka Whatever as my own, it's mine now, STOP FIGHTING.
"IKE PUNCHED ME," Ezra tearlessly and dramatically sobs, as if I:
1) Care. At all. Anymore.
2) Are you bleeding?
3) Was it like, a real punch or just some vague fist-shaking that came sort-of close to the vicinity of your person okay yeah that's what I thought STOP FIGHTING.
And in between all that: Noah. Asking to play Minecraft Minecraft Minecraft.
1) Unload the dishwasher.
2) Clean your hell hole room.
3) Do a load of laundry.
4) Practice your saxophone.
5) Go get the mail/recycling bins/trash cans/walk the dog/go outside for 30 seconds.
So Minecraft IS a pretty damn good motivator, I will give it that. Noah typically responds with a strangled-sounding but polite, "Okay!" to the first couple chore requests, then has an increasingly more difficult time fighting the initial "I AM NOT YOUR SLAVE, MOTHER" yelp of injustice.
And in between all THAT, of course, comes the FEED USSSS requests from all three of them. Breakfast has turned into a two-hour smorgasboard of carbo-loading, they start asking for lunch an hour later, and then the afternoon kicks off with endless begging for snacks until dinnertime, at which point they are all starrrrrrrving and going to dieeeeee and why am I cooking a complicated family dinner when a frozen pizza would be faster and probably save their livvvvvvves.
(And yet I'm the one putting weight on from too much stir-crazy boredom snacking, and an aversion to working out in our "exercise area" in the unfinished portion of the basement, which NEWSFLASH is unheated and cold as balls.)
But nobody is bleeding and nothing is really happening. Plus hey! I have kids handling the dishwasher and the laundry, two of my most-hated chores, so that's a win.