I live, and I have not broken another limb, and even as I type I am still able to yell at my 12 year old to get off of that stinking video game, and go give his stinking self a bath.... not very effective though...
"Mom, I have to finish this level!"
"Sam, I told you 7:30"
"Ahh, ahh, dang, I hate this so much, I can't get it to work"
"What did you say?!"
"Not you Mom, the video game!"
Of course now, he is really, really, really angry that I made him get off the game and he is screaming mad. Oh well.
Rages are so not fun. Can I get a witness?
The end of the school year is always like this, and it so does not help that school is in until June 17th due to that snow month that we had this winter... and if you want to know why I haven't written lately, may I allow you to hear the eloquent screams of
"MOM! WHERE ARE MY PAJAMAS?"
"They are in your dresser."
"BUT I CAN'T FIND THEM!"
This is Ben this time and geesh, training them to come and talk to you, and not to yell at you through the house seems to be impossible. Has this mission ever been successfully completed? Is it like the elusive "never putting down the toilet seat"
Should I even continue to try?
Although, when I stepped away long enough to help Ben get his pajamas, answer the telephone and speak to my darling husband, and to assure Ben that if the cat got up the tree, she can get back down, and that you should not use a long stick to try and touch her in the tree... (where is that witness?!?) Sam seemed to calm down, and decide that having some food was a good idea. (Yeah, NOW he wants to eat) But, on the up side, he made it himself and seems to be speaking in a normal tone of voice. So I complement him on his good choice of making food....sigh, and come back to let you all know that I really, really have not given up blogging. I am still knitting, I have pictures of socks, lots of socks that I have completed, (I still cannot work on my sweater because of the shoulder. I'm chopping on that bit a little.) I will show those to you hopefully tomorrow, because now I have to usher a 12 year old into the bath.
Isn't that where we started?