I realized this weekend that I suck the joy out of my children's lives. As in, I'm no fun whatsoever. I'm not okay with the kids using the furniture as indoor trampolines, having WWE/UFC smackdowns in the living room with their dad (well, more UFC because blood was involved, and we all know WWE isn't real. Neither is Santa, The Easter Bunny, or The Tooth Fairy. We had that discussion this weekend too. I'll get to that in a minute.), sledding down the stairs, or microwaving spoons. I can only imagine that when I tell my kids no (in a very calm, non-sarcastic, loving way) they see this:
I have a pretty high tolerance - wait. No, I don't. Maybe it's because I got a rush from being the ultimate good kid growing up, while my brother consistently got in trouble for pretending to be Evel Kinevel (or however the hell you spell his name). Maybe I'm a big chickenshit. Maybe my anxiety levels are through the roof without my kids attempting to kill themselves all in the name of fun. Maybe I'm consistently pissy because my freshly vacuumed carpet is now full of smashed strawberry cereal bar and shredded leaves that came in on the dog and why wouldn't we shred them and we just realized that I shoved the entertainment center over the vent so now our favorite game of taking the vent off and throwing shit down it is over so we're screaming and my leg is covered with spit because the boy is in a licking phase and all he wants to eat is spaghetti and the girl is a snotty preteen who just needs to get her period already so we can have some relief around here and the Hubs is quick to point out that the boy needs his diaper changed because he stinks but hey there's Battlefield 3 to be played rather than changing a diaper and he thinks he gets a free get out of jail card because he went to bed at 730 so he was up at 5 and had coffee made before I woke up. And that was the longest run on sentence in history. And I have no idea what I was originally talking about because oh look! Something shiny!
I guess what I initially tried to say is I'm not a fan of my kids bleeding and crying unnecessarily. I don't enjoy trips to the emergency room. I don't enjoy bathing preteens who wear casts, as I've previously mentioned. Does this make me a big boring jerk? Probably. In my defense, I do let a lot slide, but I have limits. Unlike anyone else I live with.
In other news, we broke it to the eldest that there is no Santa, Easter Bunny, or Tooth Fairy. This wasn't planned, but after she started talking about how "We need to get Santa a gift because he's given so much to us" and I swallowed down the vomit from that sickenly sweet and completely false statement, we decided it was necessary. After she called us liars, she took it rather well. Especially after we threw her inability to tell the truth about mundane things such as brushing her teeth in her face. Parents - 1, Kid - ZERO. Man, that felt good.