Kathleen McCall:
Occasional�� Muse�

2002-02-11 - 7:21 a.m.

I'M Not Cross, YOU'RE Irritating

When I'm cross or stressed or not feeling well, my kids know it. I can tell they know it, because they choose that time to do the most impossibly irritating things they know how to do. Over and over.

All right. I admit the possibility that they actually do these things all the time, and it's only when I'm sick or cross or tense that they seem to be personally designed to drive me right over the Mommy Wall, into that place of mouth-foaming limb-twitching incoherence. The possibility exists. But when I'm sick or tired or grumpy, it feels as though they are doing a clever pas de deux straight out of Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte.

They touch my stuff. What are you doing? Why are you touching that? Put that down, that's not yours. I don't care if you're only looking at. You don't need to be looking at that. You start looking at that and the next thing I know you've walked away with it and I won't see it again til next Christmas when I make you clean all the crap out from under your bed. Is that addressed to you? Then why are you reading it? Leave my desk ALONE. Put that down NOW. I mean it.

They make noises. Do you have to use that flute as a weapon? Can you practice in your room please? Do you have any other piece of music you're studying besides Carmen? Yes, you sound just like a kitty, please go away now. No. I don't like kitties today. Please stop. Where did you find that whistle? I swear I threw that sucker away. Give it to me NOW. Do you have to play racecars in the living room? Yes, I hear that you can whistle without a whistle now. That's great. Take it OUTSIDE. Please stop it, girls. Jeeeeesus, who turned that television volume up to 30? Down, I said turn that DOWN, DOWN! DOWN! Read my LIPS! Do you own any CD besides Eiffel 65? Thank you. They put party blowers in those part bags? I HATE those people, you can't play there ever again. NO, I don't have ANY BATTERIES to put in the Bop-It, don't ask me again. Oh, you found some. Great.

They get into things. What do you need in the kitchen? Please get out of the kitchen. What are you doing with the yardstick? I don't care if you're not hurting it, put it back. Take some tape and go. No, not the whole dispenser, put that down. No, you can't take those blankets outside. No, you can't take the towels out either. Bring those towels back in the house NOW. Why are the cushions off the couch? Put the cushions back on the couch. Shut the refrigerator. What do you need in that cabinet? There's nothing in that cabinet you need. Where did you get THAT? Put it back where you found it. Stay out of the garage. Where are you going with that chair?

They ask questions. Where's that thing, the red thing, that I had yesterday? Mommy, did you take my thing? What are we having for dinner tomorrow? When can we go visit Elle and Shoe? Will you help me find my red thing because I need it right now? Do we have any superglue? When are you going to fix that Barbie because you said you were but you didn't? Will you help me put on this tattoo? What are we going to do today? Mom, what takes superglue off things? Why don't you ever take us to Disneyland? Mom, does mustard stain? Mom, I want to show you something. Can I have some paper with lines? Can I have some paper with no lines? Mom, will you sharpen all my colored pencils? Mom, you know Rugrats? On Rugrats, when Chuckie was....

What I want, the only thing I want, the only small well-earned request that a long-suffering martyred mama is making, is that you sit down, quietly, both of you, separately, on the couch, with the TV down low, and your hands folded in your lap, and don't be moving or touching stuff or making any noise or asking any questions or telling me things, for the rest of the day. Please. That's all.

I'm in the wrong business today, aren't I?

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