Monday, December 19, 2011

Pick Your Battles

Morning Readers,

     From what I gathered off the evening news,Sunday, people look forward to the weekend. This confused me, until I did some research and found out those same people are single with no children. Apparently, they hang out with each other, drinking, laughing, ankles free of little hands trying to pin their feet together so they trip into the refrigerator and knock off the eight Christmas cards being held to the surface by one, solitary turkey-shaped magnet. I however, don't look forward to the weekend. Not only is my Saturday the identical twin of my Monday, I'm required to teach battle tactics to Husband...

     Lessons for him usually start when he can make it to class. This weekend, he was late. Through eyes wired open with caffeine, I looked him over. "Well, what is it this week? Dog ate your homework?"

     He yawned. "Flea ate something? If he pooped, I'll clean it up."

     I threw my hands in the air. "We started at 6am. It is now 10am. How am I supposed to teach you anything, if you insist on doing that thing you're always talking about?"

     "Sleeping?"

     Both hands on his shoulders, I shook him fiercely. "I drank all the hot coffee, so you'll have to nuke the cold stuff I left in the bottom of the pot. Now, since you weren't here on time, I'll throw out the syllabus and just take your questions as they come."

     "You're ridiculous." Massaging his eyes, he stumbled to the microwave. I'm just really tir-"

     My ears perked up. "What?... What is it? Describe it to me, and I'll walk you through it, slowly."

     Hi arms flailed. "The kids are taking off the cover to the floor vent. Hey, you two, put that ba-"

     Pinning his hands to his sides, I stared at him. "You have to let it go. They're just burying their treasures, possibly making a trip or two to the basement. With any luck, most of the dirt will stick to them, on their way back, and we won't have to have the ducts cleaned next summer."

     An hour later, I heard a cry from the kitchen. "No, no, no. You put that down."

     I hurtled the couch and slammed into the doorway. "What is it?" Husband pointed at the stove, where Butch was standing on the drawer, helping himself to leftover mashed potatoes. "Oh."

     Husband knit his brow and growled, "What do you mean 'Oh'...do you let him get away with this too?"

     Taking his hand, I patted it. "Get away with it? Honey, look how well he's using that fork. Let it go and be glad he's so gifted with flatware. During the day, I prefer to think of it as he's helping me scrape the plates. Butch, honey, go lick that bowl where Daddy can't be traumatized by it."

    At that, he rounded on me. "You sure let them get away with a lot, around here. Riding the dog, charging things to the credit card, taking the car for a "quick spin". When they ran by in loin cloths, trying to scalp each other, I thought that's where you might draw the line, What's wrong with you, woman?"

    Delicately, I pulled Sundance down from the top of the curtains. "See, you're learning, already. You have to pick your battles. If I yelled at them about every, little thing, it would stop having an impact. I want them to take me seriously."

     "So you let them re-paint our bedroom?"

     "You've always said chartreuse relaxes you."

     "I'm curious to know where exactly it is you draw the line...fire breathing? ....power tools?... a Lindsay Lohan Day-by-Day Inspirational calender?"

     "Naptime."

     Husband shook his head. "Naptime?"

     "That's our no-nonsense time. I save all my authority for that most sacred of all hours."

     "Well, Miss I-Let-Everything-Go, how do you get them to lay down and go to sleep if you haven't been disciplining them all day?"

     "Well, they know they either take a nap, or I start reading from the Lindsay Lohan Inspirational Calendar. So far, I haven't had to go past January 1st..."    

Do you guys let things go pretty easily? If not...how was your weekend?...:)
   

Until Next Time, Readers!