My girls love each other. And they show it best through fighting and screaming. Even well intentioned playing ends up in a mess of tears and ear splitting screams. This is especially true when I’m trying to do something, say cook dinner, and am not physically in the same room. Take, for example, this true scenario.
The setting: Our house. Towards the end of the day so there are toys and pillows and blankets and I-don’t-even-want-to-know strewn all over.
Me: one frazzled mommy trying to make a home cooked, healthy meal in less than 30 minutes, and counting the minutes until bedtime
Samantha: oldest sister, second mommy to Penny (in her mind anyway)
Ella: 2 year old (enough said)
Penny: the baby
I was in the kitchen attempting to make something wholesome before the hungry monster attacked and I had three screaming kids. I hear Penny whining, so I step to look in the family room to see what is going on.
There is Samantha, carrying Penny under the armpits. Just as I’m about to scold her for the approximately three millionth time not to carry the baby, she swings Penny forward in the general direction of the couch, and lets her fly. I gasp loudly as Penny lands on a pile of pillows and blankets at the foot of the couch. Screaming and crying ensues.
I just look at Samantha (you know the look) who immediately bursts into tears, runs to her room, and slams the door. I run to Penny, who is unharmed but upset and screaming.
Ella, who had been watching the whole thing starts in.
“Do me Sammy! Do me! I won’t cry!”
To which I respond, no, she’s not going to try to throw you on the couch. Cue the two year old temper tantrum. And the fire alarm, as whatever I was cooking is now burning in the kitchen.
Whenever I have times like these where all three girls are screaming and crying and my ears are going to bleed, I think to myself, who can I blame for this? Because, clearly, there must be someone to blame. In this case (and many other cases), I blame my husband. He likes to throw the girls on the couch.