Tuesday, May 16, 2006

What the hell?

I was going to sit down and right about a subject near and dear to so many of our hearts--boys and the color pink.

This was, of course, before my children got insomnia and continued to exit their rooms for nearly 2 bloody hours past their bedtimes, the client email I was supposed to get so that I could send out materials that must be sent tonight failed to materialize (yet), and the wee black ants decided to swarm my dining room.

So much angst, so little time. What the hell, I'm not going anywhere, and it's going to be a long night anyway. Let us begin.

What is it with the Pink Hate? I swear. Tonight the Boy decided to be a kind big brother and put in "Sleeping Booty" (as the Girl calls it, which almost makes up for how often she begs to watch the damned thing) for his sister. After a minute, he said, "I am not going to tell anyone my secret, except for my family. I will only tell you, my family, my secret."

What mother could resist an opener like that?

He looked seriously at us. "I kinda like princesses. But you must not tell ANYONE ELSE. Don't tell any of my friends, or they won't be my friends anymore."

"Well, that's silly," I replied with extremely intentional nonchalance. "There isn't anything wrong with liking princesses."

"Don't tell," he insisted. "And M says he's going to quit being my friend because I like pink."

Well, that did it. "Oh for Pete's sake!" I fumed. Believe me, this is a subject that has gotten my goat more times than I have goats to count. Or something. "B. What is pink?" He paused. "A color?" "EXACTLY," I said, "A color. Would you like or dislike somebody because of which colors that person liked??" He rolled his eyes. "Noooo." "So," I said, "What do you think you can say to someone who says you can't like any color you please?" He thought again, but not for long. "Get over it," he shrugged. "Great idea," I told him. Then I reminded him of several other boys his age who liked pink as well, at which he brightened further. "Besides," I threw in for the finale, "you know your [6'4", 200+pound, kickboxing, Harley-riding, ex-military, tattooed] father wears pink all the time. What do you think your Papa would do if someone told him he couldn't wear pink?"

This time the Boy didn't even pause. "Kick 'em in the nuts!"

Okay, so it wasn't what I was going for, but hey.

Does anyone else have that little part in the back of your brain that can SEE you getting totally overly annoyed with your children [for the child-free, insert guilt-loaded noun here], that KNOWS you should just chill out and not get flustered, but that obviously has NO control over your friggin' mouth? Okay, so work already had me crazy today and the kids were a bit wild and the Boy spilled a water glass on me at dinner because he wasn't paying attention to what he was doing and they Would. Not. Go. To. Sleep. But for crying out loud. How hard is it for me to just say, screw it, so I'll be up until 2 a.m. getting everything else done so that I can take the extra 20 minutes to sing them both to sleep when they're having trouble getting to sleep on their own? I have this dread that they're going to look back and all they'll remember is their mother bitch bitch bitching about every little thing. Fuck.

...and Vermin
And the ants pick NOW to invade? Tonight? Too late to call the Orkin guy until morning, but not too late for me to spend a half hour scouring the boxes out in the garage in search of the bait traps that I think I bought and never used at the old house, double-sweeping the floor, making sure all the dishes and food are sealed up tight, and being generally squeeged out by the little effers. Oh, the humanity.

I might be tempted to go outside and shake my fist at the heavens if I didn't have the sneaking suspicion I might get flattened by a stray meteor or something.