please remind me why we have children

I love my son. No really, I do. Despite the occasional threat to sell him on the black market, to the gypsies, or even auction him away on Ebay. He really is a good boy - well mannered and fun to be around. Just not yesterday.

The defense presents Exhibit #1: Gavin & I decide it would be fun (and give mommy some much-needed exercise) if we were to ride my bike to the PO box, instead of driving. This would normally not be a huge production, except it was the first ride of the year, so we had to clean out and assemble Gavin’s snazzy little bike trailer. Helpy Helperkins that he is, (and slightly obsessive about the water hose) Gavin announces that HE is going to do the spraying. So I think - knock yourself out kiddo, I’ve got to figure out where I “stored” the canvas top last fall anyway…

After 15 minutes or so, I finally locate the missing pieces - and deliver them to the front yard, where he is happily blasting the carrier from all angles. Typical summery Norman Rockwell you’re thinking, right? This is where it gets ugly. It had started to sprinkle, and in the interest of completing the task and getting in the house to let the rain pass, I **GASP** grab the hose and start filling the soap bucket with water!!! You would have thought I had ripped his arm off, or at the very least shoved his beloved Mama Elephant in the toilet. Oh….my….Lord… He SHREIKED that I was not supposed to TOUCH the hose, threw his washcloth down on the ground and said that he was done helping.

Probably not the smartest thing to say to your stubborn, ornery mother whom is going through all of this extra work to take YOU for a freakin’ bike ride instead of just driving there like we do every day, right? I promptly sent mister stink-pants into the house amid a chorus of more screeching, and I finished the cleaning by myself. We did, however, drive to the freakin’ PO box.

Exhibit #356: We get home from the pool and guess what the mailman delivered? One of those fake little car dealership keys that they sometimes send you, supposedly so you think you already have the keys to your new car, you just have to stop in and pick it out (oh, and pay for it). Gavin LOVES these things - he has several of them on a key ring, and pretends they are for his trucks, tractors and other little boy toys. Only yesterday, he was convinced that THIS particular key actually unlocks our house. After a 5 minute dissertation on WHY nobody would simply MAIL us a key that fits our house locks, curiosity got the best of him, and he started jamming the fake key into our front door. I envisioned having to re-key all the locks, and this pretty much sent me over the edge. I snapped. I may or may not have threatened to sell him to the gypsies if he didn’t get that (insert bad word here) into my (different bad word) locks!!

That’s when the waterworks began again, for the 502,036th time that day. He started wailing that he wanted a key for our doors, at louder and louder volumes and higher and higher pitches. Among the chaos of the day, I had forgotten to unload the other half (non-cold foods) from my truck, and figured this would be a GREAT time to do so. Yep, cranky-pants follows me out of the house screaming “I WANNA DOOR KEY”. Only in hysteric-ese, it sounded more like “I’m a DORKY!!!!!”

I admit, my son blasting the neighborhood that he is a ‘dorky’ did somewhat soften the Steel Curtain of Mommy. But it was also a good thing that Daddy came home 20 minutes later. Someone again please remind me why we have children?