Door slamming. What is it with this fascination of doors!? Just leave them open. Now, I understand why I find shoes wedged above the top hinge when I get home from work; they never stop opening, then closing, then opening, then closing. And opening. Closing. One wants it open, one wants it closed. Eventually it turns into a fight. Soon the crying/screeching starts (we'll get to that one: squealing). After one begins the domino-like effect of a toddler melt down, the door motions become more rapid. Finally, it turns into slamming. Then, inevitably, a finger gets smashed. Now, I'm pissed. Because, during this entire, 45 second process, I have been trying to get them to stop by yelling from where ever I am throughout the house, likely changing a diaper or nursing a baby, and now, they expect comfort for their smashed finger. After deliberately ignoring my requests turned demands to halt all door touching completely, as well as, forewarning them of the high risk for finger injury long before their actions became violent, they want my sympathy!? Seriously guys. Not a hard concept. Don't touch the doors. I have since purchased foam door stops.
Asking for food. It NEVER ceases. I walk in the door from work, and the first thing I get is, "Mommy!" from 3 adorable, smiling boys. Then, in nearly the same breath, I get, "Can I have a snack?" I have an ongoing joke with Kerry, our nanny, where I ask her why she doesn't feed my children all day. Because that's what they would lead me to believe! If I even venture within 3 feet of a kitchen entrance, George hears it. He comes running and begs for a "'nack" or "hone" (drink). That child will be incredible at "boxing out" during basketball games because that is the maneuver he uses in an attempt to keep me headed in the direction of the refrigerator. They will literally get up from the dining room table, where they are eating lunch to come into the kitchen to ask me for more food, with half their meal still on the plate. Kitchen's closed. That's right. The kitchen is closed. I don't even want to talk about our grocery bill to feed 4 growing boys in their teen years.
Emptying drawers, cabinets, boxes, baskets. If you fill it, they will come...and empty it. And sprinkle the items throughout the house. Put some pieces in their mouth. Or ears. Especially lotion. George really likes to eat lotion. Curtis just screams and starts crying when he gets caught. Oh, I'm sorry, I hurt your feelings by telling you not to do something for the 600th time, yet you've continued to do it!? And I'm the bad guy? If I have to try to fit all the Tupperware in the cabinet one more time today, it's all going in the trash. Which would be tragic...because then what would they carry around the house begging me to fill with more cereal. Or Goldfish. Or popcorn. Or raisins. Or peanuts? Left to their own devices, I am fairly certain George and Curtis could have every single item from every single drawer in the entire house, which is 49, yeah, I counted, out and on the floor (or in their mouth, ears or nose) in less than 2 hours. Brock will, on occasion, contribute to the debauchery if the toddlers have discovered something worth the risk of punishment.
Asking for dessert, drinks. This may seem similar to the previous food comment, and it is, but I'm going to be a bit more specific here. When it's meal time, there are 3 children's plates to be filled, 3 drinks to get, and 3 kids to arrange at the table. Unfortunately, I was only provided 2 arms at my conception, so I cannot possibly do all of this simultaneously. No sooner have I set their plate on the table, then someone asks, "can I have a drink?" When have I EVER not provided you with a drink!? It's coming. You probably even saw me pouring the milk into the sippy cups. I just don't get it, and I am kind of beginning to wonder if you are "special". Then, when the meal is finished, the inquiries about dessert start coming. "We don't get dessert with every meal." "Dessert is a special treat." "Everyone has to be finished with dinner before we get dessert." "Your mommy is a fatty, and will almost 100% of the time have something for dessert, because she wants it too, so you NEVER have to ask!" Ok, I don't say the last one...but they should have figured that out by now, am I right?
Asking who was on the phone, text, etc. Brock is the biggest perpetrator when it comes to this behavior. He must know who is on the phone, every single time I say even one word on it. He also interrupts approximately 98.4% of adult conversations. Really, he never stops talking. Mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom. We've gotten to a point where we mutually do not listen to one another. Because, as you all probably know, I never stop talking either. He obsesses. In fact, I spoke with Annora one evening about our plans for the Visitation trivia night, involving only adults, for about 20 minutes. It was a long conversation. We talked about a lot of different things. I got off the phone and "Who was that mom?" Nora. "What did she say?" A lot of things, Brock, none of which had anything to do with you, and I am not repeating them. 4 days later, "Mom, what did you and Nora talk about, I just want to know." AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! (Ripping my hair out. Seriously, I think I am having chest pain, just re-writing this story is upsetting me.) Moving on...
Repetition. If its funny once we have to do it over, and over and over, until it's no fun for anyone anymore. They will kind of continue to fake laugh, but it's lost its original flair. Don't force it, it's ok to laugh at something only one time. Just enjoy the moment. After all, I can only trip you while running across the room, or throw you onto the bed or couch, so many times before we all end up at the Emergency room. Oh, and don't forget, if one child laughs, then EVERY child must get the same treatment. It's 3 for 1 in this house, at all times.
This list could go on, and on, and on, but Curtis has just woken up from his nap and decided that George needs to be up as well. Thanks. So my now, already not long enough break in the day from the terrorist two toddlers, has been cut short. Back to the grind...they are already asking for food.