Liar, Liar, Pants On Fire

I say I won't be blogging much this summer, and here I am, two days later. But this was too funny not to write about, and I didn't want to take any chances of forgetting it.

Hays has realized that being sick or hurt means sympathy from Mommy and Daddy. So now, every time he's in trouble, he suddenly becomes deathly ill or tragically injured. This is pretty common with kids, but lately, Hays's claims have become quite imaginative. Two of my favorites have occurred in the past two days.

Tuesday we took the world's most horrible trip to Target. Hays was apparently possessed by demons just before we got there, and screamed, cried and whined during the entire trip. I'm pretty sure no mother has ever sprinted through Target quite so fast. I was furious, and I let him know that, in no uncertain terms, on the drive home. The minute we got out of the car, I told him, "You are going to time out the second we walk in the door as punishment for your awful behavior!"

I watched him stand in the driveway, pondering this for a moment. Then he suddenly dropped to the ground and cried, "Owwwwww! Someone just hit me with a hammer! I'm huuuuurt!" A hammer? Really? A sudden, invisible hammer attack? That level of creative lying is skillful. Kind of impressive, in fact. But not impressive enough to excuse public fit-pitching, so I suppressed a smile and hauled him to time-out.

I figured he couldn't top the alleged hammer attack, but I was wrong. Not 24 hours later, he mounted another public protest when it was time to leave the park. This time my mom was along for the fun, and she got stuck carrying a crying, thrashing Hays to the car. He accidentally head-butted her while writhing and carrying on as she was buckling him into his car seat. I felt sorry for her, but not so much for him. I guess that he could sense this as we drove away and I admonished his tears with a cold-hearted, "Well, if you hadn't been acting like such a punk, you wouldn't have hurt yourself!" He replied with a lie of such stellar proportions- "I didn't! Yaya said she hates me!" that I was momentarily left speechless. Ummmm, yeah, sure. Yaya said she hated you. Yaya, who is so nice she would barely say she hates mosquitoes, or the bubonic plague, or Nazis, said she hates her four year old grandson. Nice try there, buddy.

We had to have a little chat then about lying. But honestly, I don't think it did much good. Because five minutes later when I told him not to throw his Power Ranger in the Publix parking lot, he told me, "I didn't throw it. The ghost did."

School's Been Blown To Pieces

Well, my friends, summer has officially descended upon us. Mason finished school Friday, and yesterday was the first day of summer vacation. A time that I used to adore. A time that felt like freedom and opportunity and held the promise of something amazing. I loved summer. Hell, I lived for summer. Funny how things change....

Now I dread the whining and fighting of bored kids. The brain-scrambling heat that smacks your face like a miffed Southern Belle the minute you dare to peek out the door. Summer is no longer a thing of beauty and a joy to behold.

But it will be better than last year. By God, it WILL be better than last year. The twins have achieved the ability to play in the backyard by themselves (it's fenced). And they will play out there for hours, no matter how hot it gets. And, devoid of other human contact, Mason plays with them. There are plenty of arguments, fights and tattling in the process, but they play. We'll have some trips to Yaya's pool. My sister promises to make weekly trips out here with my nephew. And the Three Martini Playdate with two of my best friends and their kids will be in full swing. (Got to love having educators as friends- they can play all summer long!!) So we're going to survive summer if it kills me!

But you know from previous years that summer means a major blogging draught. It's not that I don't have anything to say, it's just that I'm too hot, tired and mired in chaos to actually sit down and write anything. I'm sure I'll manage some sporadic updates, but it will probably be kind of ghost-towny around here for the next couple of months. But the good news is, once August rolls around, the kiddos head back to school. And since the twins will go four mornings a week (YAHOO!!!) I'll inundate you with more bloggy goodness than you can imagine ( or stand). Happy summer, everybody. May your cocktails be cold, your kids content, and your days sunny!!

The Prayer of The Frustrated Mom

Dear Lord,
     I need your help. I need you to hold me back and keep me from killing this child. Because, Lord, I don't know if I can do it on my own. Honestly, how many times can you be argued with? How much smart-mouthed back talk can you take before you finally snap and knock his head clean off his shoulders- sending that sass-mouth rolling clear across the kitchen floor? I'm not sure exactly how much, but I'm afraid I'm going to find out.

     So hold me back, Lord. Please. I don't want to kill him. I love him more than my own life. And there are so many times that I'm amazed by how cute, sweet, smart and funny he is. But, Lord, this is not one of those times.Quiet my nerves and hold my tongue, because it's about to get away from me. I need you, Lord. You and a glass of wine.

                                                      Amen.