No Pitter-Patter of Little Feet In This House

©Lisa Barker

Why is it that my sons can’t whisper when they wake up? Why must they leap from bed, yelling at the top of their lungs, bickering with each other? Isn’t that bad for them? Doesn’t it give them a headache? I know it gives me one.

The thing is, even if I am well rested and could get up, I can’t wake up and deal with this nonsense. So I have been training them to get up and read quietly in bed until I come to get them for breakfast. We’re making small progress. It sounds something like this.

“JOHN DANIEL, MOMMA SAYS WE HAVE TO STAY IN OUR ROOM!”

“I KNOW THAT!”

Then, my bedroom door bursts open. “MOMMA, ARE WE DOING A GOOD JOB? WE’RE STAYING IN OUR ROOM LIKE YOU ASKED US TO DO!”

Finally, they did it. Not a peep sounded in their room, but the phone had to ring every fifteen minutes before the alarm went off. Four calls in one hour. I think my brain is scared to slip into REM sleep. No wonder I lie awake at night, scared to drift off. Who knows what I might wake up to?

I thought I’d outsmart the boys one day and snooze on the sofa while they had breakfast. I thought I could wake up gradually...until the doorbell rang. It was a police officer with the five-year old. He’d been running down the middle of the street like an escaped dog.

It’s enough to make me want to get up early and bust into their room and start bickering and screaming to see how they like it.

Even the teens are sick of it and it takes a lot to wake up a teenager. Now I wake up to people shouting for the boys to SHUT UP.

Why do I bother? And when will I be completely deaf? I look forward to the day that I can turn off my hearing aid. What bliss.

My husband and I have been debating recently who has the harder day. Apparently, he does. With great effort he gets up every morning, slips into his car ALONE, drives to work ALONE, and works all day without children screaming at him in his office. Man, I’d love to have it so rough.

He says I have it easy because I can sleep in. I’d like him to define ‘sleeping in’. If that means lying in bed while my temples throb and I envision the boys tearing down the house, oh, yeah. I’m in seventh heaven. Just like he is when he comes home from work and one hour later he’s pulling out his hair.

Forget the pitter-patter of little feet. You’ll never hear it over the dull roar.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit

http://www.jellymom.com

. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!

No More Momma’s Boy

©Lisa Barker

My sister and I share the same dilemma. Both of us have boys that are no longer Mommy’s Little Love Dumpling. Hers turned seven and mine turned five.

Hers has a crush now. He floats on air...while my sister and her broken heart bob in the surf and get smashed on the rocks. She’s no longer the only woman in his life.

Mine informs me, very loudly in the grocery store parking lot, “Momma, I don’t need to hold your hand now! I’m FIVE years old.”

Hers used to do all his schoolwork, very carefully and neatly. He started hiding his homework in his dresser drawer. If he can’t see it, and if no one else can, then it doesn’t exist and he doesn’t have to do it.

Mine used to ask to help me do things around the house. Now I ask him to tidy his room and all I hear is how it will take FOREVER. And it does because he has to bellyache about it all day long first.

Hers used to have an immaculate room. He took pride in putting his things away. Now it’s books, toys and underwear all over the floor.

Mine used to like getting his hair cut. Now he informs me that I stink as a barber and that he was much cuter with his hair long.

What happened? We doted on them, kissed their boo-boos, scared away the monsters, baked them cookies and now they don’t need us?

We read them stories, helped them find their lost cars, decorated their rooms in cute hotrod themes and ocean themes and now we can just serve them meals and a clean change of clothes, thank you very much.

I asked my son to pick up his toys in the living room. He said, “No, thank you.” This caught my attention because he was actually being polite.

“What do you mean, ‘No, thank you’?”

“I don’t want to pick up my toys.”

“Okay, then pick up the ones you want to keep.” This didn’t work. He just lounged on the sofa like the toy fairy would be making a new delivery sooner or later so why bother with these? And there were too many toys for me to bother scooping them up and placing them in storage.

“Son, you need to pick up these toys NOW.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want--”

“Pick up the toys or stand in the corner.”

“I said, I don’t--”

“Corner.”

He stomped to the corner. “You’re not the boss of me anymore!”

Yeah, this was Mommy’s Little Love Dumpling not too long ago. Breaks my heart. I think I’ll call my sister and commiserate.


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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and syndicated through Martin-Ola Press/Parent To Parent. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com.

Happy Hour, The Most Coveted Part of The Day

©Lisa Barker

Happy hour in the Barker household has nothing to do with discounted alcoholic drinks. Happy hour is when my husband returns from work and I am free to use the bathroom at my leisure with total privacy.

There’s no going when I am the only adult in the house and the teens are still in school, especially when I am alone with Infant Mermaid Girl, five-year old Take-Charge CEO Man and Sergeant Stripes.

This is how it goes. I try to sneak off for a much needed potty break. As soon as the door locks, Infant Mermaid Girl begins to coo and gurgle and flop around indicating she needs feeding or a change. I can hear this over the baby intercom, but it is too late to stop now. Hopefully, Infant Mermaid Girl doesn’t throw up and start coughing.

“Hack, hack, urp.”

Great.

The phone rings.

“Don’t answer that!” I holler, but CEO Man answers the phone and starts informing the dentist’s office? a pollster? the vet? an editor? about every personal detail of my life.

“Momma is in the bathroom going poop. Dad’s at work and my brother (Sergeant Stripes) is yelling in his room so it’s just me and my sister (Infant Mermaid Girl). She just barfed—Mom, are you done pooping yet?”

Now the doorbell rings and CEO Man tries to manage that, too, but Sergeant Stripes marches right after him. “No, I’M answering the door!”

“Both of you close that door!” I yell, but no one hears because the two new self-promoted men of the house are arguing at the door in front of the UPS man? the gardener? ambassadors of God?

“You let the cat out!” Sergeant Stripes bellows.

“No, YOU did!”

“Momma, there’s boxes!”

“Momma’s going poop. Bring the boxes inside.”

Boxes?? There is no hurrying mother nature.

Now Infant Mermaid Girl starts to cry. She’s cold and frightened by her reflux. The boys race to the bathroom door and start pounding on it, both trying to outdo the other and they’re starting to get physical.

“Becca threw up!”

“Is she okay?”

“Momma, the boxes are here. You have to sign a paper!”

“Is she BREATHING?”

“He just opened the door and let the people in and so the cat ran out and I am NOT going to go after it. I’m sick and tired of him leaving the door open!”

“What people??”

“I didn’t let the cat out! YOU did! You stupid idiot!”

“I’m not an idiot, YOU’RE an idiot!”

“QUIET ALREADY – BOTH OF YOU!” What drugs did I take thinking I could go to the bathroom?

CEO Man hands me the phone. “Uh, yes?”

It’s my gynecologist. How absolutely wonderful.

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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!