Murdered By Stink Eye

A few days ago, the boys were finally hitting the stir-crazy summer wall and hitting it hard. They were going apeshit. Like, crazy, kill-me-now apeshit. My eye was twitching.

After Nate got up, I went back to bed for a nap, and I couldn't even sleep because they were so loud and woke me up every five minutes. That's rare. I've slept on a park bench in the middle of Disneyland, for Christ's sake. This bitch can sleep. When I finally gave up and came out of the bedroom, they were bouncing off the walls. Climbing the furniture. Screaming and yelling. I kinda wanted to shoot them with a tranq gun. It's a damn shame I don't have one. 

Thinking fast, under stress, I determined that it was obviously time to make them scoot their asses on their razor scooters to the park by our house. 

Don't climb the furniture, boys! Climb the jungle gym at the park! Don't slide down your brother's face, slide down the slide at the park! Don't run like a maniac in circles around the couch! Ride your scooters!

I pushed Brandon in the stroller. Ethan and Connor rode their scooters. We got to the park.

And they moped around like their best friend just died. Ethan actually stood, as if in a catatonic state, in the grass. Just stood there. 

Do your kids do this? They are acting like hyped-up crack addicts and so you decide to take them somewhere where they can let out their crack energy and maybe even become a bit tired (I have lofty ideas), and as soon as you get there, they act like they are dying? Or suddenly starving to death and chewing on your arm or the park bench, even though they ate right before you left?

I was irritated. This happens a lot lately. So I kept telling them, all helicopter-mom style that I'm usually totally not, "GO PLAY. Go down the slide. Climb a tree. Go light a match. Go step in dog crap. DO SOMETHING. No, you cannot EAT. I didn't bring you to the park to EAT. Stop standing in the grass like a statue. You can do that at home. GO PLAAAYYYYY!"

After a while, when I was at my wit's end, Ethan asked me if he could ride his scooter around the small park. Well, factoring in the scooter ride home, AND the fact that there were a few tiny kids around that could and surely would dart in front of his scooter, I told him, "No, you can ride your scooter aaaaall the way home, I didn't bring you to the park to do something you can do on our street, GO PLAY."

He was pissed. Oh well. A bit later, we left. I was like, "Hey, Ethan, now you can ride your scooter. Yay."

He rode four blocks and decided that he didn't want to ride his scooter anymore.

I'm sorry. Homey don't play that. He wanted me to pack his scooter on the stroller. I could have done it, but screw all that, it was about the principal of it. Kid whines about not being able to ride his scooter, then gets to, then doesn't want to? I told him to ride it.

So he proceeded to angrily walk his scooter home. He was NOT going to ride it.

HE SHOWED ME. 

It was HILARIOUS. Talk about snapping me out of a bad mood, I watched this kid think he was punishing me with these dirty looks:

Look at that STINK EYE!! No, his nose isn't pierced. It's just a shadow, promise. 

And this was his walk. The long, angry strides, clenched fists, and sloping shoulders, combined with his dagger-like, dirty looks are not going to haunt me forever:

I mean, poor guy. (That was typed in the sarcasm font.) He did this the entire rest of the way home. My stomach and cheeks hurt from laughing so hard. I barely made it home. 

WHAT A DORK. Man, I love this kid.

I can't wait to show him these photos next week when he's older. I can't wait to tease him and show him what a total goofball he was - and probably will still be.

And then he can print them and take them to his next therapy session.