Well, if this were Everybody loves Earl, then I could blame Karma. But it's not. So let's try eating humble pie. I knew I shouldn't have bragged, I knew somehow I would be reminded of the necessity for humility.
Life with boys is different -- I understand that. They are more physical. They learn social boundries by seeing how far they can push, before they are pushed back. But tonight was yucky. It started around 3:00 with the complaining about having to go to Baccalaureate. I'm sorry, I don't care if you're bored, an hour isn't going to kill you. We are a family and we support our family -- bored or not. That means soccer games, football games, concerts and yes, even Baccalaureate and graduation. So the complaining continued... then I reminded them that this was a church and I would not allow them to wear camo shorts and t-shirts... more groaning... so much so that one 9 year old who shall remain nameless REFUSED to change. I refused to let him go w/o pants, and I grabbed the first pair of khakis I saw and put them in the car. Flash forward to the parking lot of a LARGE Methodist church, threats of being grounded for a month... muttered comments like "Do not get out of the car unless you have those pants on." Only to notice after he finally relented and got out of the car in said pants, that they were a pair I had set aside for my nephew. And, at least 7 inches too short for said 9 year old. But, off we went anyway. If I wasn't so tired from the arguing beforehand I could almost see it as comical.
I can yada yada yada through the service--it was nice and inspirational and non-denominational (OK, here's where I miss Catholic schools the most) all the way up to departure. More complaining to mom, "Why do you have to talk to everyone?" "I told you it would be boring" "Make them stop that!" Now we are outside said HUGE MEGA church, the car is in sight. I stop to say hi to a mom I have known since Claire and her twins were in 2nd grade. When I am suddenly PUNCHED in the arm out of my momversation. "Mom, Ryan is down" I look over and see several kind mothers comforting a crying Ryan on the concrete sidewalk. What happened? Not too sure, too much rough housing that ended with Daniel kicking Ryan in the privates as he bent down to pick up a water bottle. As I ask Sean to pick up Ryan, who is not going to move from his fetal position on the sidewalk, he throws his water bottle down and says "If you didn't talk to people, then this wouldn't have happened."
I want to quit on days like this. Or as my own dear mother used to tell us, "Run away and change my name to Heather so they can't find me."