Meanest Mom EVER!
I am the meanest mom ever. EVER! It's official.
Tonight, T threw a spaghetti noodle in his sister's milk. You would have thought he had tried to poison her the way she carried on, but, hey a noodle in your milk IS gross. I'll give her that. Especially someone else's noodle. Especially your BROTHER'S noodle.
After she finished going berserk and I talked her down off the ledge (girl's got a flair for the dramatic, and why am I the only one who gets to experience it? hmmm), I assured her she didn't have to drink her milk.
She poured her noodle milk into her brother's glass.
After he finished going berserk, I dispatched Little Meems elsewhere, amid huffing and stomping because while she didn't want to stay in the same ROOM as her brother (her words and inflection, not mine) apparently she couldn't bear to be sent away either.
And you wonder why motherhood is so exhausting.
"And as for you, young man, you need to drink your milk."
"But it has a NOODLE in it!"
"I know. And you're going to drink it anyway."
"But I'll drink the NOODLE!!"
"Hmm. Sounds like you're in a predicament."
"Well, you're the meanest mom ever. In the world. Maybe even in the universe. Maybe even the galaxy. Definitely in this neighborhood."
"Yeah, I know, right?"
"But I'm SORRY."
"Don't apologize to me, apologize to your sister."
He dismounts his chair and starts to take off.
"AFTER you drink the milk."
Huff. Puff. Angry muttering under his breath. Head thrown back in agony with a bear growl thrown in for good measure.
"Yeah yeah, enough. I get that this isn't pleasant, but you can't throw food into people's drinks. It's not OK to ruin something of someone else's because you think it's funny. Now drink. Actions have consequences. Yours is to finish your noodle milk."
And he did. There was a lot of gagging and eyes rolling back into his head and more bear growls (his specialty), but he drank that darn milk, until he found the noodle.
He fished it out and put it in the sink, as well as his milk....almost.
"Nuh-uh. Finish."
He hugged me. Hard. I think he was fighting back tears.
My goal was not to torture him. I mean, really, it was a noodle. I knew he'd survive. The goal was to teach him a lesson. Unfortunatley, some lessons are learned the hard way. The world isn't always going to show you mercy. As noodle milk isn't dangerous, I felt OK about my choice.
"Drink, mister."
"But there's residue." The noodle was bare. There was no residue.
"Drink!"
And he did. And (gasp) he lived! Hallelujah! And he offered his sister a heartfelt apology, one that can only be gained from truly experiencing empathy. And I was proud of him. Of course, she screamed at him for being in her room and slammed the door on him, but bless his heart his intentions were good.
I don't think he'll do that again.
Drinking noodle milk may be torture, but having to apologize to your sister?
Waaaay worse.
Tonight, T threw a spaghetti noodle in his sister's milk. You would have thought he had tried to poison her the way she carried on, but, hey a noodle in your milk IS gross. I'll give her that. Especially someone else's noodle. Especially your BROTHER'S noodle.
After she finished going berserk and I talked her down off the ledge (girl's got a flair for the dramatic, and why am I the only one who gets to experience it? hmmm), I assured her she didn't have to drink her milk.
She poured her noodle milk into her brother's glass.
After he finished going berserk, I dispatched Little Meems elsewhere, amid huffing and stomping because while she didn't want to stay in the same ROOM as her brother (her words and inflection, not mine) apparently she couldn't bear to be sent away either.
And you wonder why motherhood is so exhausting.
"And as for you, young man, you need to drink your milk."
"But it has a NOODLE in it!"
"I know. And you're going to drink it anyway."
"But I'll drink the NOODLE!!"
"Hmm. Sounds like you're in a predicament."
"Well, you're the meanest mom ever. In the world. Maybe even in the universe. Maybe even the galaxy. Definitely in this neighborhood."
"Yeah, I know, right?"
"But I'm SORRY."
"Don't apologize to me, apologize to your sister."
He dismounts his chair and starts to take off.
"AFTER you drink the milk."
Huff. Puff. Angry muttering under his breath. Head thrown back in agony with a bear growl thrown in for good measure.
"Yeah yeah, enough. I get that this isn't pleasant, but you can't throw food into people's drinks. It's not OK to ruin something of someone else's because you think it's funny. Now drink. Actions have consequences. Yours is to finish your noodle milk."
And he did. There was a lot of gagging and eyes rolling back into his head and more bear growls (his specialty), but he drank that darn milk, until he found the noodle.
He fished it out and put it in the sink, as well as his milk....almost.
"Nuh-uh. Finish."
He hugged me. Hard. I think he was fighting back tears.
My goal was not to torture him. I mean, really, it was a noodle. I knew he'd survive. The goal was to teach him a lesson. Unfortunatley, some lessons are learned the hard way. The world isn't always going to show you mercy. As noodle milk isn't dangerous, I felt OK about my choice.
"Drink, mister."
"But there's residue." The noodle was bare. There was no residue.
"Drink!"
And he did. And (gasp) he lived! Hallelujah! And he offered his sister a heartfelt apology, one that can only be gained from truly experiencing empathy. And I was proud of him. Of course, she screamed at him for being in her room and slammed the door on him, but bless his heart his intentions were good.
I don't think he'll do that again.
Drinking noodle milk may be torture, but having to apologize to your sister?
Waaaay worse.
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