Since I Worked on Mother’s Day, It Only Seemed Fair that Steven Would Work on Father’s Day (ie He Can’t Censor What I Write, hehe)

I know on Father’s Day you’re suppose to write a flowery post about the wonderful fathers in you life, but I’m at the end of my rope with my little monsters and the fact that my Dad didn’t like my Father’s Day gift really ticked me off. I offered him my children for good as a gift and he thought I was kidding. Darn it. That means I’m stuck with them for another 13.5 and 15.5 years respectively. As soon as they hit 18, I’m kicking them to the curb.

Hopefully the next so many years don’t sound like yesterday: Seporah was repeatedly bugging Felicity while they were in the car. Felicity was repeatedly screaming. I pull the car over and in my meanest mean mommy voice say, “Don’t touch your sister! Don’t poke your sister! Don’t hit your sister! Don’t kick your sister! Don’t touch her toy! Don’t take away her toy! Don’t pretend to hit your sister! Don’t put your hand in her face! Don’t pinch your sister! Do you understand?!?!?!”
“yes.”
Good, start driving again and not 5 seconds later Felicity starts screaming again. “WHAT?!?! DID YOU HIT YOUR SISTER?”
“no.”
“DID YOU KICK YOUR SISTER?”
“no.”
etc, etc, no to everything.
“THEN WHY IS SHE SCREAMING?!?!”
“I poked her chair.”

The people who say “Be grateful, these are the best years of your life” either have really lousy memories or have much more obedient children than ours. The longer we have the girls, the more amazed I am that my brothers and I made it to adulthood without being killed by our parents. I mean there were FOUR of us, that’s twice as many as we have. Sibling rivalry drives me absolutely bonkers, I’m amazed MY girls aren’t dead yet.

So thank you Dad for not killing any of us and keeping us around for 18+ years. I really appreciate that all of us made it, even though you had 3 boys so there’d be spares.

Thanks for finally taking me to the emergency department when my appendix ruptured. If you hadn’t I would have never lived long enough to fully appreciate a nursery with raisins ground into the carpet that reeks of poopy diapers.

Thanks for teaching me how to drive. If you hadn’t I’d never know the joy of listening to my little monsters fighting with each other in the back seat while I tried to make a left turn.

Thanks for teaching me how to tie my shoes. It’d be difficult to chase after the girls with me tripping over my laces.

Thanks for teaching me how to read. It’s really come in handy for the 28th reading of Olivia Goes to the Park.

Thanks for teaching me to never talk to strangers. As far as my children are concerning, catering to their every whim is far more important than developing a social life anyway.

Thanks for teaching me to sing off key. You get no awards for singing The Itsy Bitsy Spider on key anyways.

Thanks for teaching me about the Strike Zone. Between work, school and children, you’re never gonna find the energy to do it anyways.

Thanks for teaching me the true value of a nap. Now if I could just have the opportunity to appreciate one.

Sorry for all those times when I was little that I annoyed the hell out of you. I’ve got my comeuppance: grandchildren.

Baby Märia, Mommy Pam, Toddler Russell and Daddy Russ