You parents know those days.
Hell if you were ever a kid, you know how much you
tortured your parents sometimes.
If you're a grandparent, yeah sit there smirking and
thinking "Payback is hell Dave....."......
Damian and Lucifer lived up to their names today.

The constant bickering, sibling rivalry, shoving,
pushing, pinching til the other cries, name calling,
whining......AAAAUUUGGGHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

"Stop it!!!!!!!!!!"
"Last chance or I'll..........well........"
"IN YOUR ROOMS!!!!!!"
"N O W!!!!!!!!"
"BECAUSE I SAID SO!!!!!!!"
"BECAUSE I'M THE MOTHER!!!!!!!"

That's when I broke down and whimpered like a fool.
My mother used to say that.
Hell she still DOES!

My mother knits. I don't mean booties and scarves.
Though she does that too. I mean, HUGE afaghans,
sweaters with extreme pattern designs..... and she
doesn't just knit.....she rarely uses patterns, she can
do it while making Dad's breakfast, taking medicine
and sleeping. The woman beats the hell out of Billy
the Kid for the fastest hands.... believe me, I know, I
still have the peircings to prove it......
If we acted up, she got quiet. And we tensed
immediately. But...we still kept going....mouthing,
rolling our eyes... (Not me of course, but uh...the rest
of my siblings), she became even quieter. This is
when a rattle snake comes into mind. NEVER take
your eyes away because the second you do......
POKE!!! The pointy end of one of those friggen
knitting needles made contact with the most softest
part of your thigh. (Like when you accidently sit on
the corner of the seatbelt and it like hurts for hours?)
And i tell you, it didn't break the skin, but you feel it for
literally EVER. I'm 33 years old and I STILL feel it.
She even scares Dad. She curls her fingers in a
threatening manner, and holds her hand at about....
oh....crotch level, turns her hand out and smiles. Dad calls her "The
Craw".

And she still knits. But I learned respect from that.
Now when I roll my eyes and make yappy faces I
make sure it's out of reach of her chair and her .44
calibre knitting needles.

I need something like that. I don't knit. I don't crochet
so i can't hook their nostrils with a crochet hook till
they beg for mercy. I don't lift weights so i can't drop
a 20 lb bar across their necks till they learn to behave.

In fact, all it seems I do is type on the computer, but
smacking them with a keyboard seems a little drastic.

Until something better comes along, I send them to
their rooms. Which in fact they hate, cuz they're not
allowed to play with anything.

After about an hour (yes a full hour) of hearing "DAVE
can we puLEEZE come out now???? sob sob cry cry
stomp stomp stomp" my right eye was throbbing like
a drill hammer, and I was doing the Michael
Bolton/vein-throbbing-in-the-forehead-thing. It
became silent for about 20 minutes. Then i hear
Damian (Josh), the 7 year old:

"Mom, can i give you something?"
to which I snap "You mean BESIDES this headache!?"
He quietly replies... "Please?"
I storm angrily upstairs, hot, tired, frustrated, lost my
cool, forgot I was supposed to be the grown up here
and burst into his room with a loud "What?"

He looks up at me, and hands me a note, then sits
back on his bed.

I open it.
I read it.
Then wrap my arms around him and Lucifer so tightly
I swear they turned purple.
And then I realize why it's worth it.
Why I love them so damn much.
Why I had them to begin with.
And why they are my whole world.
Even when I'm so mad I could scream.

"I love you Mom. Mom you are the Best Mom that you
can get. I am so sorry for dooing things that I shodint
a did. I'm the sorryest kid. I love you." (see scan)
Joey peeks out and hands me a picture he drew of the
entire family, holding hands and smiling.

Neither of them did it to make me feel guilty.
They don't know the power of guilt trips yet.
They did these things out of love.
God HELP me when they learn the power of guilt trips.

Take me home! Main Dave's Chronicles

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