I've come to the conclusion that I don't actually have children living in my house. I have for years
referred to them as my 'weapons of mass destruction'; and I'm starting to think
my Mom might have been on to something . . .
You see, my Mom always told me when I was not listening and/or was misbehaving to "be careful, because what you choose to do now will come back to haunt you ten times worse when you have your own children". At least I think that's what she said ... truth be told, I wasn't really listening ...
I'm realizing she had a point though. Because things are at least ten times worse with my own children - or so it sometimes seems ... (Well, unless we take into account that whole infamous ziploc bag flour fight of 1984 with my sister ... seriously, who knew the bags would explode so easily?!? And that flour is so hard to clean up?!?)
Case in point - we did a lot of outside work these past couple of weekends. We have 4.5 acres - so when I say a lot of outside work, I really mean it. As I'm sure is true for most of you, when outside work is being done, inside work is generally not - unless you are some super human and can do both at once, in which case, please call me immediately - I will pay you an amount beyond your wildest dreams to come and live in my house. No really, I will. (Call me.)
That isn't to say the house was a total disaster, but it definitely hasn't been kept up like when I was
inside during the winter months. It was all good until Saturday, when some
pre-programmed search and destroy code was remotely activated (in honor of
Mother's Day I'm fairly certain) and all heck broke loose - culminating in the
simultaneous clearing of each and every shelf of its contents in my office,
emptying the rubbermaid bin of Lego all over the basement, and half eaten
yogurt tubes stashed like land mines in various locations around the house.
Then, in a stroke of pure
luck genius, a kitchen chair was pushed over onto
the floor with such force that an expensive decorative bowl was launched into the air from the resulting vibration, shattering into 'a thousand
million pieces' throughout the kitchen and down the basement stairs. (I'm
throwing 'thousand million pieces' in as an ode to my own Mom, who
once exclaimed that this was how my Uncle's brand new cassette player would end
up if he didn't quit sneaking up on her and secretly making recordings. My
sister is laughing out loud right now. My Mom on the other hand, probably isn't
... it's always been kind of a sore spot. That and the STOP sign she ran in
Blackfalds when we were 5. Who knew something like that would be so memorable
for a little kid?!?)
Part of me hopes that Mom was right - if you behave badly as a kid, you will pay for it later with your own children. Sweet revenge if you will - much like the look of victory on her face when we told her we were pregnant with twins ...
But then I lay awake at night thinking about how
and exuberant my grandchildren could be - and because the kids are talking about
having big families (who doesn't want to dream of having 10 kids when you are
6), there will be lots of them running around and Lord knows WHAT could
happen?! It would be like my field of gophers - only I probably couldn't shoot
a pellet gun at them to make them go away ... or maybe I could, because 'what
happens at Grandma's stays at Grandma's', right? Especially if you give them
cookies in exchange for their silence. Ok, I wouldn't really shoot
at them - the kids I mean, that would just be cruel. The
gophers on the other hand are fair game.
At any rate, it's a good thing my little weapons of mass destruction come in cute little packages that always remember to tell me how much they love me when I put them to bed at night. Because I sure do love them, despite their efforts to drive me crazy. Just like my Mom loves me even when I tease her a little bit ... right Mom?
Yeah, I might be getting what I deserve ;)