Why so violent? Beats me.
What should I do, my kids beat me up. I am sure there is a hotline for something like this, but hey, what else are blogs for.
It all starts bright and early in the morn. Occasionally, it isn’t yet morning, but you can tell the sky is thinking about it. The little guy, who miraculously manages to join me in the bed, prefers to let me know of his presence quite violently. He throws himself over my belly, which of course suffers dearly when so highly intoxicated with urine. You know those times your eyes blink open, warning you to pee so your bladder doesn’t explode. Those times you just snooze your brain messages to return to those blissful moments of slumber. Ouch.
When I flip my exhausted body over to sleep on the other side he leans over and socks me in the gut. If I thought I could hold it in for a few more seconds, I am truly mistaken. He gets my attention and I need to drag my limp legs out of the bed and make the dreaded trip to the bathroom. I HATE cold toilet seats. I cringe as I am about to sit down and yelp even before I get there. Even the anticipation makes me shiver. I tumble back into bed, praying that he is asleep. Of course, who am I kidding. He is prepared for battle awaiting my return. You can’t miss the little voice saying “Mama” repeatedly.
I try to ignore him and make believe that I am asleep and he continues to use me as a trampoline. Eventually, somewhere along the way, he passes out from boredom, I assume. I get those precious minutes back in my dreamy world. It is quiet aside from the occasional kick in the nose, from which I scream so loud and praying it isn’t broken. I feel like one of these days it will actually break off entirely from all of the beatings.
As soon as the dreams get vivid and spectacular, the song pops on. It sounds something like this “Mommy, can you wipe me, daddy can you wipe me, mommy can you wipe me…” In a tune oh so merry. It starts low and then slowly reaches a crescendo when I shoot out of my bed praying the other guys don’t wake up. Really, that isn’t so true. I should just spit out the truth that I silently pray that hubs will hear and take care of the toilet issues. My prayers are usually answered. Ah! Feels so good to spit it out. So what, I am not mom of the week. Sue me.
Eventually, they all wake up and unhappily I drag myself out of bed. They are already fed and waiting for clothing. G-d bless the hubs. Then, child number two starts screaming about going to school. Why an almost three-year-old has such a tantrum every day about school, is beyond me. He hates it. Screams all the way there. He thrashes about as I dress him and once again, I get socked in the gut, though thoroughly emptied this time. He kicks and yells and a few bruises later (on me, even though I sometimes dream of doing it back) he is dressed and sent out to school.
Then the fun begins. I am home with a one-and-a-half year old who is quite the fighter. I am going to have to send him to karate soon to get out all the violence. That is what we gotta do, teach them how to utilize their abilities in a positive sense. We have to discover their strengths and direct them. So I am thinking karate kid. He can’t speak but he sure can fight. After watching any martial arts you are well aware that you need not speak. You just need some grunts and shouts and you are good to go. He will be fine.
He can be playing with a toy frying pan and I will be nicely sitting beside him so he can play in the comfort of my presence. Why do I do that to myself. He will just turn around and slam me over the head with the pan. He isn’t vicious and smiling like a devil like my other kids have done. He just turns around and continues playing as if it had to be done.
He is rough and he beats the other kids as well, even though he is a quarter their size. I feel like it is karma for all the young bullies I used to watch from the outside and silently curse. I hope he grows out of this and it’s just because he doesn’t know how to express his feelings yet. It has got to be difficult not to be able to speak. I feel for him.
There are five loads of laundry on my bed and the darling angels are fast asleep since 6:10. I sang to them and they all conked out. Either it was really nice or dreadfully boring. Whatever the case, it worked. I have been sleeping with laundry on the bed and every morning I am stuck bending down and picking it off the floor. Way too many people in one bed to have laundry. Way too many kickers.