Have I lost control or did I lack it in the first place?

The course of the last few weeks and, more specifically, the last few days have caused me to ponder some fundamental questions about the state of affairs in my household. From the outside looking in, I see other families operating on a functional level that seems to mirror what any reasonable person would call typical. That's not to say that these families don't appear to have their own fair share of ebbs and flows in the craziness category. It just seems, in comparison to the chaos that swirls around my existence like a category 5 hurricane (sometimes even complete with debris and liquid of dubious origins) that the other families I know aren't subject to the same types of all out pandemonium that we have up in here. Which begs the question, is it me? Is it something inherent in my DNA that spurs children to act like demons? Like some kind of pheromone I'm releasing that triggers a biological response, culminating in abhorrent decision making? Is it my utter lack of leadership abilities, despite the fact that I try with all of my might to possess a shred of the intimidation factor that my mother and those of my peer group possess? Are my kids just heathens? In examining this, I decided to look at the events of the last week and assess the situation for what it is in an effort to come up with a game plan.

Incident #1

The child safety lock on my silverware drawer is broken and the children know this. Lately they have taken to retrieving every spoon in the drawer that they can carry and using them as their "tools" so that they can pretend to fix their toys. This didn't bother me until I grew tired of washing fifteen spoons per day, so when I heard my daughter clanging around in the drawer a few days ago and looked up from my email to see her walking through the house with a spoon, I had this interchange with her:

Me: Julia, can you please put that spoon back? It isn't a toy and Mommy doesn't feel like washing all of the spoons every five minutes.

Julia sighs theatrically and then saunters back over to the silverware drawer as I redirect my attention to the computer monitor. The sound of the drawer opening is followed by the clanging sound of silverware being thrown back in amongst its compatriots. 

Julia: I put it in my butt.

Me: (Looking up in alarm, hoping against hope that I had misheard).....you what?

Julia: I didn't put it all the way in my butt, but I put it a little bit in my butt.

I have no idea on which spoon the assault was committed but I can say that all spoons were scrubbed like Meryl Streep in Silkwood.

Incident #2

Taking my children to the mall on a hot Arizona day is one of the few activities I can do with them by myself. They are 3 1/2 and 2, which means that they may have the muscle ability to walk on their own but lack the emotional maturity to listen to reason (and possibly a condition in which they are physically unable to hear their mother's voice at all, not unlike when Carolann couldn't hear her father in Poltergeist). Taking them to the mall allows me to put them in the double stroller, walk them to the play area, watch them play in a contained space, take them to the Disney Store so that they can color and dance with the music on the big screen in the back, feed them Subway, spit out a few quarters for them to ride the carousel and then load them up for home. It kills a lot of time, is air conditioned and I'm normally able to pull it off with no issues. 

During better times. The frantic yells for Patrick are good foreshadow for Incident # 3

All was going well a couple of days ago until we hit the Disney Store portion of our rendezvous. Instead of an unstructured coloring time with music like they usually have, a kindly Cast Member was leading the children in a pirate activity that coincided with videos and songs from Jake and the Neverland Pirates. Four kids were lined up in front of her as they pretended to fly with pixie dust, looked through imaginary telescopes and practiced their pirate vocabulary. Adorable. 

My kids were over it immediately. My son wandered over to the, now pushed aside, coloring table and began working on a picture while my daughter came over to me and held on to my legs as if something about the blonde woman cheerfully channeling Captain Hook was inherently evil. This kid is not shy, so I took it to mean that she might be running out of steam, at which point I suggested that we hit the streets and get some lunch to go. 

She lost....her fucking mind. 

She ran away from me, caught sight of a bucket of bouncy balls in her escape path, reached in and threw a gob of them up in the air in mid sprint so that they flew every direction and screamed the shrill, ear piercing scream that is only achievable with the vocal chords of a female toddler. Seriously, dogs in El Salvador heard her. I caught up with her and hoisted her up so that I could put her back in the stroller, only to have her stiffen to the point of utter straightness, still while shrieking the shriek of the maimed. It was like trying to put an angry department store mannequin into the back of a Graco double stroller. I was left with two options, I could wait out the tantrum in the middle of the Disney Store while everyone around was forced to listen to it or I could apply gentle, yet persistent, force to her solar plexus with my forearm in an attempt to get her to bend in half long enough to strap her into the stroller. I chose the latter, ignoring the burning stares of the parents whose children were now skipping with the Cast Member on a quest through the store for gold doubloons. 

I got her secured as she screamed in fury and realized I'd made a tactical error by putting her in the back as I loaded my son into the front. I'd been going for maximum containment when I placed her there, but  as I buckled my son it appeared that I'd sentenced him to a session of "How Many Times Can I Get Kicked In My Thoracic Vertebrae?"

I wasn't about to try and move her to the front seat after having to employ WWE moves to get her in the stroller the first time out so I lit out of the store, pushing them for all I was worth in an attempt to get out of the mall and to my vehicle as quickly as possible, all while trying to ignore the looks of disgust and mild empathy the kicking and screaming were eliciting in those I passed. I also tried to reassure my son that his anguish would soon be over, but I'm not sure he could hear me over the sound of the body blows. 

We'd made it to the exit just in time for her to level his seat with a kick that actually gave him whiplash and I finally lost my shit. I got down eye level with her and told her to knock it off, which she responded to by kicking her legs back into his seat and then leaving them extended so that he couldn't sit back. I tried to get her to relax her legs, but she held them firm while screaming wordless sounds of insanity.

You know how, in movies and in TV shows, they make Satan's voice really deep and guttural to go for both the intimidation factor as well as an evil and unnerving sense as well?

 I did that.

 In front of Kona Grill. 

While people were sitting on the patio enjoying a few California Rolls during their lunch hour. 

In my daughter's face. 

Put your feet down and stop kicking your brother or I will throw your blanket onto the freewaaaaaaay!

People stared. I got the kids to the car, loaded them up and burst into tears. Haven't been back to the mall since.

 Incident # 3

Our final incident occurred today. I actually got a full night sleep last night and was feeling ready to take on the world. I was turning over a new leaf in all of our lives. No more junk food. No more yelling. More reverse psychology. More positive reinforcement. I made the kids and I breakfast, got everyone dressed and we headed out to pick up lunch so we could spend some time at the fire station with their dad. I even went so far as to put a little gel in my son's hair so it would be all cute and David Beckham-esque as we went out to conquer the world. This decision will become pertinent later.

All went well as we hung out with dad and his crew at the station, so well in fact that I decided on our way to drop our library books off that the kids had earned the ability to go inside and pick a few movies instead of just dropping our books off in the drive thru like we were going to. Hoorays issued forth. We went inside the library and I grabbed the stuff I had on hold, then proceeded upstairs so the kids could play in the toddler area for a few minutes before we made our selections and headed home.

I was really congratulating myself at this point. The kids were playing quietly and looking at books while I took a gander at the Jillian Michaels selection I'd picked up. I was one of those moms! The ones whose kids just behaved and I could hang out with them without having to hover over them every second to keep them from going utterly nuts. If I'd had a Starbucks in my hand, the moment would have been complete.

Then we decided to leave. I told each kid they could pick a movie and two books, which when added to the four books I already had in my hand meant my arms were completely full by the time I'd gathered up our selections. I stood there for a second, trying to figure out the best way to accomplish getting all of our loot and my kids out at the same time and that's when all hell broke loose. 

My son saw my hesitation, saw my helplessness under the pile of books and I literally watched as the evil overtook him. If you remember from my Mother's Day post, my son is a runner and he is fast as shit even when I'm NOT bogged down with diet books and Chuggington DVDs. He broke into a giggling sprint, which proved to be irresistible to my daughter, and they headed for the stacks as a unified and now shrieking front. People on the computers looked at me with annoyance, but unlike the irritated and disapproving stares of the mall-goers, I actually felt like these jack holes could go fuck themselves. They were in the children's section of the public library, if they wanted quiet they could have gone to the reference section for god's sake. 

I walked calmly and resolutely to the end of the stacks, as that was where the sound of horribly behaved children was heading, and willed myself not to start yelling for them. I may have not felt bad for the bit of noise my kids were kicking up, but I wasn't about to add to the cacaphony. I intercepted them with my best disappointed face, which only made my son crack up and act like he was going to take off again. My disapproval is like an aphrodisiac to that kid. Thinking fast, I asked his retreating back if he wanted a movie and he was thankfully unaware that it was a movie he'd already picked. I made a big show of handing him the DVD and asking for his help in carrying it and this newfound task seemed to stop his need to escape long enough for me to herd them downstairs to the checkout kiosks. 

We got downstairs after a blistering lecture in the elevator and they stood compliantly next to me for a few seconds as I began scanning our items for check out, but soon the allure of running around the lobby area was too great and I began frantically loading books onto the scanner to finish the job before they tripped someone, knocked something over or ran again. Library employees watched the scene from the front desk with awe, which I've become used to seeing in the faces of those we encounter on outings. There are things you never want to see public employees surprised by, especially those that are exposed on a regular basis to kids and the horrid behavior of your children ranks highly. 

I had finally gotten all of the books scanned when my son figured out that the door was automatic and charged through it into the open air. I dropped everything and gave chase, getting halfway around the front of the building before I was close enough to him to reach out and grab him. Unfortunately, due to my need to make his hair all stylish and spiky, that was what my hand connected with and I yanked him to a stop by it which caused a homeless man on the bench in front of us to cock an eyebrow at me. I am not making this up. I have now been judged for my shit parenting form by a homeless dude on a library bench. 

I picked up my son, who was giggling about the entire affair mind you, and went back in to retrieve my books and purse from their discarded pile in the lobby, at which point my son decided to bite my shoulder like a gremlin in front of the check out clerk. 

I'll be taking all that crap back through the drive thru next time.

So is it me? Is it them? Is it some sort of combination of the two that has produced a perfect storm of evil spawn and terrible parenting, thusly condemning me and my family to angry stares, public meltdowns, lifetime bans from various venues and nights spent staring at the ceiling wondering how in the hell I'm going to make productive members of society out of them? Do other parents have to chase their kids down so they don't enter restaurant kitchens? Do you, dear reader, ever pause with a spoon hovering just outside of your mouth to wonder if it's been in someone's butthole?

In the face of the evidence, I can honestly say that trying to come up with a game plan seems futile at best. I have no idea what I'm doing wrong and thusly, no idea how to alter that behavior. For now, it appears, I just have to wait it out and bask in public censure.