new year, same old

One of my new year’s resolutions was to be more patient with the boys.

Not counting the six hours I was asleep, I made it 5.2 hours before reverting to my shrieky “GET YOUR DIRTY MITTS OUT OF MY MAKEUP BAG BEFORE I DONATE BOTH OF YOU TO GOODWILL” self.

They’re just so …. on me all the time. Like phantom limbs.

If I go to get myself a drink:
“Oooh, I’m thirsty! How come you didn’t get me a drink?”

Try to make myself breakfast:
“I want some! How come you didn’t think I wanted some?”

No sense reminding them they JUST finished breakfast. No sense pointing to the milk mustaches still dripping from their upper lips. It is their job to interrupt, interfere, and barf questions at me all day long.

I’m hiding in the bathroom with a sleeve of Fig Newtons:
“Are you POOPING, Mom? What’s that crinkling sound?”

I’m mopping the kitchen:
“Mom, we made a magic elf forest out of sprinkles under the coffee table! Come see!”

In the bathroom mirror, I discover a stray eyebrow. As soon as I reach for the tweezers, they're at my feet in a nanosecond. 
“Can I see those chimpers? Why are you chimping yourself? Does that hurt to chimp yourself like that? Hey, Patrick let me chimp you!”

I go upstairs to do my 30-Day Shred video:
“Can we ride on your back while you’re doing the push-ups part?”
“Hey, those are my hand weights! I use those as a gas station for my fire trucks!”

I try to get dressed to go to a party:
“Can I wear your underwear on my head like a hero mask?”
No.
“I didn’t mean wear them to the party. I just meant for right now.”

Oh. Well, in that case ...

BY ALL MEANS.