Monday, April 30, 2012

Crate Training

They say that in spring a young man's fancy turns to love.

Maybe that's true for many.

In my house, where there are three young men, their fancies have turned toward mutually whining at one another until the noise causes one of them to commit assault.

After the poking, slapping, punching, kicking of the shins, nipple twisting, ear yanking, and indian burning the yelps, cries and screams only start the cycle of whining and assault anew.  Everyone's feelings are hurt just as much or more than their bodies.  On top of this, no matter what I serve for dinner and how many times they've previously enjoyed it, any combination of two out of three is going to cry or whine about eating it.  Then right before bed they are going to ask for ice cream sandwiches whether we have any or not.  Likely we don't have any because they've been sneaking them while I'm cooking.  Someone is always wanting something.  Then there is some question to who had adequate time using any of our electronics with a screen and who did not. 

I'm tired.

I wish there was some love going on.  I could use some gentility and some quiet. 

Yet, it could be worse.   Progesterone cream reins supreme in this house and it's daily application relieves anxiety nicely and cools my hot flashes.

My laundry is entirely finished and my house is clean for the most part.

No one has caught any raging intestinal flu this winter.

My regular visiting Jehovah's Witness hasn't felt the need to linger too long and the cover art on the most recent issues of The Watchtower has been well rendered.

All of my clothes still fit.

Sigh...this isn't the positivity I was looking for.

It's just time to adjust the parenting again for a new time in life.  Never before have I had a grown son, a new teenaged son and a six year old son.  They grow and their dynamics change.  I have to adjust.  The timbre of their whining is only growing pains that aren't responding to baby aspirin anymore.  Time to break out the ibuprofen.  It's not Oxycontin time yet.

Could be duct tape time.

It's just a thought.

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