Things that make a momma go AAAAAAGGGGHHH!!!

When telling an anecdote, my children cannot ever be interrupted without having to start the whole story over again ~ from the beginning ~ at the very first word! Let me paint a picture for you (keep in mind, this is a mild example--it's really much more annoying than presented here).

Scene: breakfast table.

Jonah: "Mom, David . . .
Zoe: (runs out of crackers, interrupts) MO!! (as in, "we want some mo!")

Jonah: "Mom, David always . . .
Zoe: MO Ma ma!!

Jonah: (sigh) "David always scr. . .
Zoe: MO!!

Jonah: (rolls eyes) "David always screams . . .
Zoe: MO!!

Jonah: (growling under breath) "David always screams in . . . "
Zoe: MO Ma MA!!! Ink! (drink)

Now I'm growling--"Just finish the story Jonah!!!!!"

Jonah: "DAVID ALWAYS SCREAMS IN CLASS!"

I can just imagine him as President of the United States, delivering some historical address (I know, I'm aiming really high for this little boy who has spent the entire morning on the floor, flailing about in full-on tantrum mode. But I suspect that's what some of those guys do too when we're not looking) . . .

"Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. . .
. . .
. . .
. . .
(there's lots in between here)
. . .
. . .
that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the . . . (someone sneezes in the audience)

"Great! Now I have to start all over again!"
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I have spoiled my children and turned them into tyrants!

I abhor stepping out of a hot shower into a cold room. It's like torture to me! I've never understood those polar bear people who swim in sub-kelvin water for the "FUN" of it. Terrorists could easily get me to divulge all of my secrets by switching me from a hot tub to a cold pool. I'd break in 2.5 seconds~(can you tell I've been watching too much 24?). Well, my children hate it too. Can you blame em?

The spoilage started when it started to get cold outside (well, cold for Texas anyways), thus it started to get cold in the house. I would drag the hair dryer into the bathroom and warm their towel up for them before draping it around their wet bodies. A nice, sweet, nurturing thing to do right? This simple act of kindness has spiraled out of control and ~ like indulging Gremlins appetites after midnight ~ has turned my children into whiny, screaming, demanding little tyrants the nanosecond the tub drains.

"I'm FREEEEE-Zing! Didn't you warm my towel up! I'm growing icicles between my toes! My boogers are icing up (I've had this happen when I lived in Rexburg, Idaho ~ it IS truly unpleasant)! I think I'm getting frostbite on my nose! Didn't you put my clothes in the dryer for me?! Bring me a goblet of something warm and chocolatey! "

This leaves me to ask all of you 80s movie buffs, How did they kill those evil gremlins in the end? Does it work for evil monkies?
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My son (surprisingly not the drama queen listed above), the one who is bleeding profusely from a gaping shrapnel wound (at least that's the way he tells it), begs/bugs/cries for a band aid to miraculously cure his ails. Within 5 minutes of the dramatic bandaging, however, I find him picking at it (the band aid that is). Despite my advice to please leave it alone, he keeps secretly and compulsively picking at it. Eventually I find little bits of band aid (cheap ones mind you--so the adhesive sticks like super glue to everything except flesh) all over the house, car, clothing, etc. As soon as every last scrap is removed, the histronics resume--he's bleeding to death, feeling faint from loss of blood, contracting gangrene from all of the germs that are attracted to his open wound, and desperately in need of another band aid to cure his ails.

Why you little . . . I'll give you a band aid alright!


AAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH!!!