Currency

I don't know about you, but Saturday mornings in my house are not relaxing.  It's nice to have a break from the carnival-style madness of getting the kids fed, dressed and out the door for school (and work)...but really, it's just the same thing in slo-mo.

You already know that Saturday does not mean "sleeping in" Chez Circus-Broccoli.  Though, Trouble did decide to gift us with an extra 30 minutes of sleep today.  She crept to my bedside at 6:01am, gently tapped me on the eyeball and whispered (as only a three year old can do, really loudly...and with spittle) "MAMA, I NEED TO TINKLE".  Wonderful.  My favorite wake up call is to wipe somebody else's tush.

After my performance as Madame Trouble's Royal Bum-Wiper, I escorted  her back downstairs where I engaged in a 5-minute negotiation into letting her sister sleep, and what can I placate her with that will allow me go back to sleep.  Of course, by the time I've "won", I'm wide awake.  But I did lay back down and pretend to be sleeping.  Which brings me to Pretend Sleeping and Selective Deafness.  WTF with this phenomenon, Dads?  I mean seriously.  I know you hear your children.  You must.  Circus Dad has mastered the ability to Pretend Sleep or Not Hear any noises that come from the childrens' rooms after light's out.  I'm on to the scam.  I'm just still working out how to use that to my advantage.  Late night disco in the dining room?  Who am I kidding?  I just want to sleep!!

30 minutes later,upon the realization that I won't be returning to dreamland, I rose to the squeals and squawks (pterodactyl-like, if I do say so) of the girls arguing over some "rule" of playing Polly Pockets.  This drama never happens on weekdays.  There is no time for playing.  There is only breakfast, clothing, hair, teeth, sunscreen, and getting out the door.  That sounds so orderly.  It takes 75 minutes every day and at least one of us is in tears at some point every day over something.

I have this thing about whiny children.  I truly just cannot suffer them.  And, of course, I have given birth to two little girls.  And we all know that little girls are fluent in eye-batting, giggling, and whining from birth.  My policy is that If You Are Whining, I Cannot Hear You.  Followed by You Will Never Get What You Want if You Whine.  This does not stop my children from attempting it.  Trouble is going through a particularly whiny phase.  She spends an inordinate amount of time collapsed into a human puddle on the floor wailing about some injustice or another.  Today, Meltdown #1 came because I poured her Koko Krunch into the yellow bowl.  I suggested she use words to request a different color bowl instead of crying about it.  She replied that she didn't even want Koko Krunch (which she requested not 60 seconds earlier)...and why did I make her eat everything in the world that she doesn't want?  Sigh.  She ate 3 round slices of smoked provolone cheese for breakfast.  And a "bambino-cino" (read: hot chocolate in a tiny espresso cup WITH saucer AND tiny bev spoon), of course.

Meltdown #2 was something about the pants.  I couldn't get her to verbalize what the problem was, but she was having a spastic fit with hip and hand motions that made me believe that either she had been possessed by the Ghost of Elvis...or she was unhappy with the pants.  Again, (attempted calm) suggestion that she use her words to tell me what she wants.  More screaming, wailing and rolling around while tugging at the offensive pants.  At which point, I suggest she go into her room and either solve the pants problem or just stay in there so I don't have to hear the wailing.

10 minutes later, I came down, dressed...wearing minimal make-up (eyeliner!  mascara!), and a hat because who has time to actually DO their hair when the child is going to require another 10 minutes to get into clothing??  Painting class is in 15 minutes!

There was some negotiation that involved Red Cowboy Boots, pink thermal leggings and a black top with a sequin silver purse on it.  Honestly, this is an outfit that would NEVER have happened with Drama.  I simply would have had her skip the class.  She looked like a cast-off from the Punky Brewster try-outs.  I brushed her hair, put in a pink ponytail and hoped that people would assume that her dad dressed her.

Circus Dad says I need to find Trouble's "currency".  Yes, we can all thank Dr. Phil for this phrase.  But I do like it and it makes sense.  My issue is that I cannot figure out what matters to Trouble.  She just likes to be in charge....and keep me from feeling like I'm in charge.  Which is all I really want anyway.

Wait.  I think she's got MY currency.  Crap. I'm so screwed.