Tuesday, September 9, 2014

A Parent's Job: Make Their Children Miserable

Chris and the Kenyan mission team gather at the church.

Loving on my hubby before he embarks on his mission trip.

The Fall Festival parade ranks right up there with Christmas for my boys. 

Of course, it feels a bit like Halloween when the boys score bags full of candy from the floats.

The drizzle didn't rain on our parade.

The boys enjoy the parade with our friends/candy competitors the Gongwers and the Brinkruffs.

Caleb is busted shoveling down a Pixy Stick!

Mornings can be rough.  In the span of less than an hour, I encourage*nudge* little boys to wake, feed, dress, and groom.  Some need little reminders.  They zip through the routine as if timed.  Others look as if they need a shot of an espresso and a prod.  Those boys are the ones who can transform me from Mary Poppins to Medusa before the sun even arrives.

This morning, one son took on the appearance of a college kid after a late night in a pub.  He traipsed through the morning as if school started at noon.  I could feel my blood pressure rise as I watched said son slowly inch through his morning checklist.  After much encouragement, he was ready without one single second to spare.  

I packed the boys in the car with steam whisking from my ears.  Caleb cranked up the radio and somehow the subject came up about broccoli.  He talked about a neighbor who brought over a head of broccoli for our family.

"Next time tell her we don't need broccoli," he asserted.  "Remind her we don't like it."

I entered into a diatribe about social etiquette (you just don't say that) and nutrition (broccoli is your friend).  He appeared unconvinced with my reason and logic.  And so I took another approach.  

"Let me fill you in on a secret," I whispered.

The boys from the back of the car leaned in closer.

"When you were born, the parent police arrived at the hospital and made us take an oath.  While holding our newborn baby, we had to raise our right hands and promise to make our children miserable," I declared.

Caleb thought for a minute and then laughed.

Pretty soon all the boys were giggling as I recalled all my "successes" as a parent making them truly miserable.

Remember that plate of broccoli?

Pure misery.

How about the times I make you read?

Bonus mom points.

What about when you make your bed or clean your rooms?

The parent police compliment my work.

The boys were in hysterics by the time we arrived at school and I was chuckling too.

As they exited the car, I smiled as I yelled, "Hope today is miserable!"

The boys giggled (although the carpool teacher looked concerned). 

And just like that, our mornings were not the least bit miserable.  

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