My kids are emotional terrorists
My kids can be emotional terrorists.
That sounds awful doesn’t it? First, I love my children. I love that every day when I get home or when they stop by the office after school, my daughters come to me a I even when work keeps me out later into the evening, even if they’ve been put to bed an hour before I get home, they’re still awake in their bed waiting for me to officially tuck them in. I love that I have five of them even if not everyone understands why you’d want five kids. But while I’ll grant you that the cause of the emotional instability isn’t necessarily under their control, no one plays with your emotions quite like children can. It’s the holiday season. When you have young children, it is the most wonderful time of the year. My kids don’t just love Christmas for the presents, but they love it for the music, for the Christmas message, for getting to see all of their family, for the food, for the (hopeful) snow and for the break from school. As parents, we also love it for those things, but especially because we love seeing joy in our children.
But do you want to know the biggest problem with having five children? Psychological warfare.
Here’s an example.
I know my children eat lunch at school. We literally ask the teachers at conferences. Yet, when they get in the car at 3:3o, they are hangry. They will fistfight over a packet of saltine crackers that they find in the vehicle. So the next stop after school is usually for a snack. Their favorite is a shake from the coffee shop near my office in Cambridge. They’ll beg, offer each other into servitude or even offer to pay (usually with money they find in the drawer at my office). Occasionally, we’ll give in, especially when daddy’s little girls ask. It feels good to spoil your kids once in a while. But that feeling fades when you pack up to head home an hour later and you find a couple shakes missing only a sip or two back in the break area. “I’ll have the rest tomorrow.” That’s not how this works, but you never really wanted it anyway, did you? Your brothers put you up to it.
My sons save their birthday money. They have more cash sitting on their dresser than many would after their best night at Ameristar. Occasionally, they want to burn some of that cash on something dumb like on-line purchases for a video game. They come running with a $20 bill for me to offset the $30 my credit card is going to get charged for their contraband. But I’m onto their game. I offer a life lesson like “This is how these free video games make money - by conning people into spending money on junk like this. Don’t fall for that gimmick”
“Ok. We just want to do it this one time. It’s a great deal! We won’t ask again.”
Fellas, you might want to space out your requests more than a few weeks. Defeated, they walk back to their rooms before soon stomping back down proclaiming boredom. A wrestling match will ensue. One of their sisters cries foul and slugs back, their Disney movie interrupted and a quiet afternoon now marred. It’s getting dark, so they can’t go outside. Let’s clean up the house. Score the victory for pops.
But sometimes, that choreust becomes a chore for mom and dad. It’s easier to just pick up the mess yourself than issue an individual command for every single item that needs put away, thrown away or washed. Other times, the task is complete in a few minutes. Back to boredom. Then whining, then fighting. And finally, opportunity: “Dad, can we please just buy the coin pack on that game?”
This was all a set up. I think. And now, I’ve got a $20 bill and I’m still somehow $10 poorer.
The next day, lunch is complete, though some just picked through it. But they msist they’re all full. Oh, but wait for it. It’s coming. The table is cleared, dishes in the sink, countertop cleaned off....and....”can we have ice cream?” “If you ate all your lunch.”
Three line up for ice cream. They eat it. Two of those come back for one more scoop. Fine. I’m heading to the couch to catch the football game.
Soon after, the three ice cream eaters have followed me to the living room, though they don’t look like they have the brain freeze they should for inhaling ice cream that fast. Hmmm.
Later on, I find two empty bowls with just a hint of ice cream residue and a spoon in the girls bedroom...you know, the room belonging to the girls who were denied ice cream because they picked through their lunch.
“Boys...did you even negotiate with them for this ice cream?”
“We don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The redhead and I don’t have a chance. We don’t even know who to discipline, but we are out of ice cream. Later, with Christmas closing in, the redhead and I are checking the list to make sure the shopping is done. Check, check, check. I think we’ve got it. In an instant, “Hey mom, I think I’m going to ask Santa for a keyboard.”
Oh really...cause I thought you said you were going to ask him for that *next* year.”
“Well, I changed my mind.” “So you don’t want the Packers football and sweatshirt?”
“I do, but I want the keyboard,” as my wife stomps to the computer, shredding a piece of paper. “Mom, what are you doing?”
“I’ve got to send Santa an email.”
“Well, I *think* I want the keyboard. Or a Pterodactyl.”
What does one feed a Pterodactyl? And do they have those for adoption at the animal shelter? Asking for Santa.
Yes, we have a loving home. It’s full and it’s wild and it’s never dull, even if the children tell you it is. Because even when it’s quiet, it’s just the next trap being set. I guess when they’re plotting against us, our children are at least doing something together.
And for that, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
