Dear Diary …
We are at war. And I don’t mean in the world or anything with terrorism or politics or whatever … this war is much closer to home. Actually, this war is IN the home … because it is a war between parents and children. And if I’m being honest … we parents are losing.
We’re not in control. We may act like we are and say things like, “I’m the parent and I’m in charge,” but those are merely the false claims of a desperate soul who’s trying to trick their enemy into believing them. It ain’t true.
The main reason we are losing is because children are masters of psychological warfare. We might be bigger and stronger, but mentally, they are destroying us.
Take my son for example. Right now he has to take an antibiotic two times a day, every day, for … I’m pretty sure … ever. Forever. OK not forever, but it certainly feels that way because every … single … time … he has to take it, he stalls … and stalls … and stalls.
“Oh I’ll do it in a minute.”
“Oh I have a headache … I need to wait.”
“Oh I can’t breathe … hang on a second.”
“I can’t breathe” is my favorite one so far. What does it even mean? It’s sort of like when liar kids say “I can’t eat any of my dinner because I’m so full … can I have a giant bowl of ice cream now?”
So every single dose of medication is an agonizing 30 minutes of psychological warfare that I lose. When he finally does agree to take the medication, he proceeds to take it in the TINIEST little … slurp … sips. It’s one teaspoon of medicine. It would be gone in two seconds if he just swallowed it all.
But nooooo … instead … let’s turn it into 37 agonizing … slurp … sips of torture.
And here’s where the psychological warfare mastermind is truly evident. One night this weekend he stayed at grandma’s house. She had to give him his meds. And he took them. All at once. With no delays.
Cuz he ain’t at war with grandma? That’s why.
He’s at war with ME.
I’m tellin’ ya … parents … we’re losing.
“No we arent! We’re in charge!”
Yeah … said the group of people who cut the crust off sandwiches, and try to arrange carrots into weird shapes and designs in some sort of pathetic effort to get our kids to eat them.
And heaven forbid you give them something like a granola bar and … gasp! … it breaks in half before they can eat it!!!
Forget it. Game over. “I can’t eat this … it’s broken!”
But it tastes the same …
“Silence peon!!! It’s broken!!! Get back in there and bring me another!”
Which you do. Don’t lie! You do it cuz you’re losing.
It’s OK … you can finally just admit that you’re losing the war. Just take a deep breath and feel good about the fact that some day some evil little spawn is gonna rise up and put THEM in their place too. Hooray karma!!!
Till next time Diary … I say … Goodbye.