So I was starting breakfast this morning when Bear scurried past me toward the laundry room.  About 30 seconds later I heard the classic signs of an impending meltdown.  There was agitated mumbling and a furious outburst, which was exactly the moment that BrightSide showed up in the hall…I find that God often intervenes on the children’s behalf like this.  They must be lighting candles or praying to the saints in their downtime.

From my vantage point (i.e. a house with wood floors in which sound carries like a beast) I can hear everything perfectly, and I found myself unspeakably grateful that BS was back there with her instead of me.  The grating whininess only elevated the level of ugliness coming out of sweet pea’s mouth.

Bear:  “But I need them.  And she hasn’t washed them in THREE WEEKS!”

BrightSide:  I’m sure it hasn’t been three weeks.

Bear:  “It HAS.  She NEVER washes any of my stuff.”

BrightSide:  That’s not fair.  You know that’s not true.

Bear:  “It IS true.  And now I have nothing to wear!”  (Bear stomps back to her room in a huff.)

In an interesting contrast, T-man passed her as he walked toward the laundry room (what the hell is it about getting dressed from the clothes baskets on school mornings?!) where he runs into BrightSide, fresh from the 8-year-old’s hormonal assault.  THEIR exchange went more like this:

T-man:  Are there any clean clothes back there?

BrightSide:  Well…a few.  But not really.

T-man:  Oh.  Okay.  (And he headed back to his room to get dressed.)

See?  Calm.  Logical.  Grasped the situation and adapted accordingly.  (And if you’d told me two years ago I’d be applying that description to T-man, I would have called you a fool and a liar, too.)

Thankfully, I’d gained a six minute reprieve while Bear was pouting in her room (and putting on what was presumably her last piece of clean clothing in the world) so I had time to process my rage.  I’ve found it’s best to save that level of crazy for very special occasions; otherwise it loses its effectiveness with the kiddos.

But that little whine-fest outside the laundry room pushed all kinds of buttons for me (Did she really just say I never wash her clothes when I do 300 pounds of laundry every blessed week?!), so there were several minutes of silent ranting and raving that went on in the kitchen.

Those six minutes gave me just enough time to process and discard all the “Have you LOST YOUR DAMN MIND?!” shouts so I could collect myself for our (ahem) conversation.

Bear showed up in the kitchen looking unhappy, upset, but for some unfathomable reason seemingly unprepared for what was coming her way.  Honestly, the girl’s lived with me long enough…you’d think she’d know by now.

She had barely set foot over the threshold when I launched into our come-to-Jesus meeting.  This involved a great deal of talking (by me) and listening with very wide eyes (by her) as I brought her swiftly back to reality.  So, in an emotional but relatively calm voice that clearly said sit up and listen close, missy miss, because mama ain’t having no more of this crap in her house, I explained:

  • “You remember last weekend?  The one where you blew off your chores on Sunday, one of which is taking your dirty clothes to the laundry room?  And how I reminded you at breakfast on Monday morning to take your dirty clothes to the laundry room?  And how you and your brother played a game before school instead of TAKING YOUR DIRTY CLOTHES TO THE LAUNDRY ROOM?  Yeah.  That’s how come you’re in this place.  Because I chose not to go into your rooms and do the chore you’d been told to do!
  • “And you know what day I do laundry, right?”  (Can you believe she said no?!)  “MONDAYS.  I do laundry on MONDAYS, which is why you’re supposed to give me your clothes on Sunday. Now of course that’s a big joke because we all know I can’t manage in a single day to wash the mountain of dirty clothes this family produces so it carries over, but guess what, honey pot?  TIM was here last week.  And TIM shut off the water for several hours on Tuesday and Wednesday and for a little bit on Thursday as well.  Guess what mom can’t do if the water’s turned off?  That’s right, the laundry!”
  • “Also, it’s not like I was sitting on my butt all week doing nothing and ignoring your laundry — I ACTUALLY HAVE A LIFE.  Last week there were vet appointments and regular school volunteering and extra school volunteering and shopping and tae kwon do and helping with homework and cooking dinner and packing lunches AND A MILLION OTHER THINGS I DO EVERY DAY that you know nothing about.”  So go ahead.  I dare you to keep looking at me like I’m kicking back all day eating potato chips.  You can’t begin to imagine what my DEFCON 1 looks like…
  • “And the really exciting news is that those machines are in the laundry room 24/7 and available for anyone to use.  I haven’t programmed them with fingerprint security so I’m the only one who can do the wash — if you have something you feel absolutely must be cleaned then by all means FEEL FREE to do a load of laundry.  I’ll be happy to show you again how to work the washing machine and dryer.”
  • “Oh, and sweet pea?  If you ever speak to me like I’m your servant again, I most certainly won’t do your laundry for at least two weeks.  Then you can see what it’s really like to have me never wash any of your stuff!  Because those kinds of snotty comments just aren’t going to fly around here.”

After I got all that off my chest Bear wandered off for a few minutes.  Can’t say that I know where she went — sometimes she heads to her room to collect herself, sometimes to BrightSide to talk about whatever horrible thing I’ve said that hurt her feelings.  Whatever.

All I know is about five minutes later a rather soggy looking Bear came back to the kitchen with hugs and apologies for me.

There are not enough of the words and such to describe what I see coming my way in the tween/teen years…