It May Not be Monday, but I'm still Manic

I've decided it's time to do some spring cleaning. Not in my house. Ha. Wouldn't that shock the family? No, sort of in my mind. I've allowed myself to get a bit muddled and off track.  It's time to get back on.

I'm 'recommitting' myself to my blog, for one. I have a goal to post more regularly. I can't promise every day, but close. I've been tossing around the idea of having 'theme' days to help keep me focused. (I have 3 kids with ADD, I'm wondering if they inherited it from me?)

My days will be as follows-

• Manic Monday  -- in which I whine rant complain discuss aspects of my life.
• One-Word Wednesday --I might just post a picture, but most of the time, I'll write about one word. If you have any suggestions for words, you can put them in the comments, or email me.
• Flashback Friday--this one is two-purposed, 1-flashbacks on my life, and, 2-re-posting older posts (if you're thinking I'm using this for days when I say, "I got nothin!", you'd be right.)

Tuesdays and Thursdays will be open; writing, guest posts, book reviews, cleaning tips, etc. (Just threw that in to see if you were paying attention. I won't give cleaning tips, but if you have any, please share.)

Today will be my first installment of Manic Monday. *

I Raised a Brat

(Image credit- Warner Brothers)

Who do you blame when your kid is a brat 
 Pampered and spoiled like a siamese cat 
 Blaming the kids is a lie and a shame 
 You know exactly who's to blame 
The mother and the father 
Oompa loompa doompadee dah 
If you're not spoiled then you will go far. **


I'm sitting here, this very moment, listening to my son Noah, (number seven) across the hall. He's in his room in the middle of a temper tantrum. 

He did not go there willingly. 

I *ahem* placed him there when he refused to leave my room and/or stop whining.  He's bellowing a mixture of wordless screams and the ever-so-endearing phrase, "I don't love you." *** 

See, the problem actually started with number six, Max.

Put down the camera and pick me up!

 He was a terrible, energy-sucking, demanding, never-sleeping child, who wanted to be held constantly, but only by me.   I loved him then, still do, but he made me so very tired. 


Then, along came Noah.

Always smiling.

He was perfect. He never cried, slept well from day one, and went to anyone who cared to hold him-- which was everyone. I was so happy, so relieved.  Noah and I went everywhere together, and I rarely told him no. Why should I when he was so well-behaved?  (Famous last words.)

Now, six years later, I have to say it. He's a brat.  The Handy Man asked me recently why he's like this. I told him, it's my fault. I take the blame.  What do we do?   he asked. 

We break him.  He's kind of like a wild horse. Bucking and running and doing whatever the heck he pleases.  We have to get him used to limits, like a saddle and bridle.(Not literally, of course.) And, I'm afraid, we're going to have to listen to lots of tantrums.  

But, better to do it now, when he's little, than when he's a 6 foot+ teenager ranting about needing a car. 

(*I know today isn't Monday, but I started this on Monday. That counts, right?)
(**From Willy Wonka, one of my favorite movies. Gene Wilder is a genius. )
(***My kids know they aren't allowed to say "I hate you", this is Noah's way of getting around that rule.)