Madhouse

As I write this, Alex, who has crawled up into the top bunk with Justin, after I told him at least five times to get back to bed, is crying because Justin just pinched him because Alex said there were carrots on the page of the book they are reading, and Justin insists there are not. Now Alex is crying because Justin won’t turn to the page that the starfruit is on.

Seriously, I’m one more incident away from being institutionalized. Every night this week each of the kids has acted like a wild animal. David’s been brooding over one thing or another, hitting Cameron, which is par for the course. Cameron has been acting out in school, not paying attention, not following directions. Justin has returned to old school Justin, which means he’s demanding and shouting when he doesn’t get his way. Alex has refused to sleep in his own bed because it’s not “comfortable” and has taken to imitating his brothers’ smart alecky ways.

The final straw that caused me to go all psycho mom tonight was a pencil eraser of all things, which is a long story which is too stupid and boring to even explain.

Even the damn dog was driving me nuts tonight, scrounging around, looking for food, acting like we haven’t fed her for a week.

Other families can sit down together and watch a television show together without a spontaneous wrestling match breaking out on the living room floor, can’t they? Does having four boys mean that there will never be a moment where one of them isn’t moving, running, crying, hitting, burping, yelling, or jumping? Is that even in the realm of possibility?

One of these days I really am just going to run out of here and let nature take its course. Call it Lord of the Flies, call it survival of the fittest, or whatever you want, I don’t care. If I can’t throw these guys outside soon it’s going to happen.

© Jennifer Alys Windholz, 2011

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