Maybe Next Saturday...

Jamie and I read "The Little Engine That Could" a lot. My mom used to read it to me too. I hated it. Mostly because everytime I had a meltdown and insisted something was impossible (which was quite a lot), my mom wouldn't say anything but just start chanting "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can" until I went and tried again. It was very annoying. Sometimes she even added a peppy little "choo choo!" to cheer me on. I was only five and it was still mortifying. Even now, I'm tempted to edit and change the book as I'm reading it to Jamie.

"...the little engine tried and tried, but she was too little and not strong enough and children on the other side of the mountain did not get their toys and good things to eat. The End"

After months and months of houseguests/people living with us, I finally decided enough was enough and scoured the house top to bottom. Or tried. I swept the floor and was halfway through mopping it when Jamie and Charlie got hungry and spilled dried spaghetti all over the floor. I told myself to remain calm, and then congratulated myself when I spoke "calmly" but "firmly" to Jamie in my best James Bond voice. "You will pick up these noodles and you will put them in this bag and you will do it now." Jamie didn't sass back, he picked up a noodle, looked at me, snapped it in two and threw it on the floor. He's fond of drawing lines in the sand. I again resisted any screaming or yelling. Even though what was merely supposed to be the daunting task of sweeping and mopping the floor while dodging two small kids and a large dog, suddenly turned into the monumental battle of clashing wills with Jamie + all the mopping. And that was just the floor. While I was disciplining Jamie, Charlie was quietly disappearing to the laundry room where he somehow managed to scale the washer and dryer to empty a bucket of oxi clean on the floor. The dog hopeful it was food, was sadly disappointed and so came to tattle mournfully. I swept up the oxiclean, and was starting a new load of laundry when I was interuppted by shrieks from the kids bedroom. I ran down the hall to find both of them on top of the dresser in the closet where Jamie was hanging upside down off the clothing rod and Charlie was trying to join him. Jamie felt this was highly inappropriate behavior for a little brother (although perfectly reasonable for him to do), thus the shrieks. I rescued both of them and chided them not to do things that will get them hurt. Then I stomped through the house and turned on Angry Men from Les Miserables which I sung at the top of my lungs.

Later I was cleaning the bathroom (since I couldn't remember the last time I cleaned it). Scrubbed the bathtub, dragged Charlie away from the toilet, grabbed Jim's toothbrush from Jamie. Emptied the trash, cleaned the mirror, took both kids out of bathtub that was now covered in muddy foot prints. Re-cleaned bathtub, scrubbed the sink, took kids out of the bathtub again, kicked them out of the bathroom entirely, locked the door and re-cleaned the bathtub for the third time while they both pounded on the door sobbing about my cruelty. Mopped the floor and was hitting the finishing touches on the chrome in the sink when it got quiet...too quiet. I whipped open the door to reveal Jamie and Barnabas gone, with Charlie left munching happily on...toilet paper? no. Trash? maybe. The tied up bag of trash looked like it had been torn open. I pried the prize from his clenched fingers and mouth. Yup trash.
A used tampon to be exact.

They win.

I don't think I can do this.