Remind Me Why We Do This.

I don’t see blood or open gaping wounds but I can’t hear if they are laughing or crying or both, I can see they are still pink, breathing, and viable, so all is good. I hope. It’s my welcome home from a celebratory weekend with friends and family. Too few hours spent sleeping and too many (and still not too too many) fraught with shenanigans and or beer or food related activities.

Obviously not all of us partook of the beer festivities, after all, what kind of parent gives their child beer and, even still who would waste fancy beer flights on someone not able to sort out a Pale Ale from an IPA? (talking about myself here.) The food, well I won’t miss an opportunity to bond with good friends or strangers over a meal. Regardless, of your preference for food or ale a good time was had by all. Today I am recounting those happy moments to medicate myself against the scene before–actually–behind me n0w!

Insulation felt like the right move, so the kids are all the way in the back of the swagger wagon…and the pop radio station is blaring (too loud for me to scream over…or them for that matter), “It’s all About That Base” at the maximum it’s little stock speakers can handle. Not because the song is anything special, though I’d like to think that getting a bigger butt would raise my level of sex appeal; it’s doubtful, but a girl can have her dreams. In general terms I simply don’t want to mediate between the two boys anymore. Now they are relegated to the back seat, playing a game of mock (I hope it’s pretend anyway, too busy seat dancing to pull-over and check) “gouge out one anothers eye balls.” Looks fun. I’ll pass.

I never regret having four kids, but moments like this I think I could have planned it out a bit better, maybe I’d be less bitter. I tease. I am not bitter, but I am tired. Tired of hooligans biting and spitting, clawing and punching. So now my kids can sit in the very back of the mini. I could silence them with a movie on the DVD player but that seems even more absurd. Sure I could exchange normal boy behavior for mindless drooling over any number of age appropriate fodder, but let’s face it, there are plenty of adults who’ve already filled that position in life, no need to make more.

Don’t hurt each other for real kids, mommy is rocking out in the front, ignoring you.

It’s my new parenting plan. Next I am buying them boxing gloves and bite-guards, maybe helmets too…and noise cancelling earphones for me!

Good thing I’m not in it for the glory!

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