The following list of seemingly innocuous statements and questions that cause ballistic tweens is by no means complete. Every day, I inadvertently find something new that sends them into an angry fit, complete with dramatic wails and moans, screams, and cries of torment. I feel as though I am living in a soap opera, complete with demonic possessions, memory loss, violent confrontations, a possible subversive criminal network, and an arch-villainess in the Form of Me.
1.) "Dinner is ready!" Of all the things that should bring joy to the hearts of hungry, growing-by-leaps-and-bounds sprites, you would think this would be high on the list. You'd be wrong. "But, Mo-o-om," (please note that when "Mom" has three or four syllables, it invariably means trouble) "I'm just the most important part of my homework/video game/piano practice!"
Just ten minutes ago, they were about to starve to death, now there is hot food on the table, and they can't be bothered. And it is worth noting that, very likely, 45 minutes previously, the following was the question that provoked yet another histrionic display:
2.) "Is your homework/piano practice done?" (See? First you can't get them to do it, then you can't get them to stop.) This is phrased as a question, not a command. I can see why telling them to do their homework might raise some hackles, but this is merely asking for a progress report. It is inevitably followed not by a clearly articulated response of "yes" or "no," but by a series of angry grunts and whines. My son, in particular, makes sounds that perfectly mimic a moose in the throes of extreme, potentially fatal, emotional distress.
Then, once the noise dies down, there are other roadblocks: "I can't find a sharp pencil" (we have pencil sharpeners at every desk in the house), "I need your computer" (fine, go for it...), "Who put my music books somewhere I can't find them?" (You did), "Don't you know I DID that already, Mom!" (If I already knew, I wouldn't have asked).
3.) "Please be sure to brush and floss your teeth." It is difficult to argue with the common sense of that request, or so you might be tempted to think. "Mo-o-om, I can't, I have a loose tooth, and it might bleed!" (My ears might start to bleed too, from all the screaming), "Do I HAVE to floss?" (Yes, for better gum health and potentially preventing heart disease), "Why do I have to brush all my teeth every night?" (You don't have to brush them all - only the ones you want to keep).
In a few years, I may be required to make that heart-wrenching choice between helping subsidize their college educations and giving the gift of beautiful, perfectly aligned teeth. If the sprites can't be bothered to brush those teeth, that decision is going to be much, much easier.
4.) "I can help with the math homework if you don't understand something." I barely make it to the "if" part before the aggravated howls start. "I hate math!" (I'm offering to help, not threatening you with the formula for the standard deviation from the mean), "Why is the answer 31.5?" (Because the question was "what is 567 divided by 18"), "Who decided that a negative number times a positive one equals a negative one?" (Not me, but I wish I knew, it would make for excellent cocktail party chatter). The suggestion of using scratch paper is dismissed with a contemptuous shrug and rolled eyes.
Fortunately, this one won't be a problem for much longer, my memory of math is solid only through inequalities and the formula for the standard deviation from the mean. Soon, when I am asked about a math problem, I can simply shrug, claim early onset dementia, and suggest they Google it.
5.) "If you clean your room, you can have a sleepover." In this case, I am offering them something they really want in exchange for meeting their personal obligation to the household. There is no threat of punishment if they do not do it, no yelling; simply the offer of a reward for engaging in the right behavior. Like when you train the dog with treats. And that is what I may have to resort to, following the sprites around with a bag of chocolate chips and giving them one every time they remember to turn off the light when leaving the room, put a piece of dirty laundry in the hamper, help empty the dishwasher, or take out the garbage.
"My room isn't THAT bad!" (I can't see the floor), "Not all those books are mine, Bennett/Madeleine was in my room and left some of them out" (Backstabbing weasels!), "I was going to wear those clothes again..." (All at once? two dresses, a pair of pants, four and half pairs of socks, three shirts, and a skirt?), "Can't we just sleep in the office?" (No, the miracle of life that is occurring in your dirty socks may become ambulatory and sentient, and will be able to creep into the office and devour you and your unlucky friend while you sleep. Don't go thinking the cat is going to protect you either, she knows I feed her.)
I don't despair - instead I look to the future and hope each of them is blessed with triplets.
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