Zen-Mom has left the building.

I haven't been blogging much the past couple of weeks because I really haven't had much to say. It's been quiet and boring and mellow around here. It's been great.


The kids have been reading and watching movies and playing on their laptops, and Mr. Wonderful and I have just been...relaxing. And relishing the quiet pace of our days.


I've tried to keep the house tidy without going crazy and making everyone else crazy. I've been relaxed and laid back about the tumbleweeds of pet hair and the dust and the dried up, dead leaves which keep falling off of the plants (which we keep having to bring inside the house because of the cold snaps/hard freezes which we keep having.) I've made jokes about the dried crumbs which certain teenagers keep leaving on the counters and about the assorted dirty cups and plates which continue to be left on the table instead of being put in the dishwasher.  


I've asked in a sweet, calm voice for the kids to please remember their chores...I tried to remind them gently to wash the oh-so-stinky dog and to empty the oh-so-stinky litterbox. I had hoped that my holiday spirit of zen-mom would encourage them to stop being rude, selfish, sloppy, and disgusting and want to help out without forcing me to nag and yell and curse in a most unattractive manner.


Unfortunately, my hopes have been dashed.


This afternoon, I snapped.  Mommie Dearest is back.


The day started out so nicely.  We went to the bookstore and had lunch with my mom, and then ran some more errands.  But then, we came home and I saw (and smelled) the condition of the house...and I just snapped.


My inner Mommie Dearest, which I try so hard to keep under control, has spent this afternoon sighing in a loud, martyr-like manner, yelling, and generally being an unwelcome guest in my home.


However unattractive and appalling Mommie Dearest's methods are...they work.  The Boy and The Princess are apparently unable to hear (or understand) calmly spoken requests. They only seem to respond to nagging and screeching and temper tantrums.


So, much to my chagrin, I sighed and yelled and cursed and screeched about the disgusting condition of the house. I threatened and I screamed and I'm sorry to admit that I cursed like a sailor.


And the kids? They snapped to attention and they scurried around cleaning up their many piles of stuff and their trash and their empty dishes and cups. They put away the cereal boxes which have been sitting on the counter since this morning and they washed the amazingly rancid smelling dog and emptied the litterbox and cleaned the bird cage. Their beds are made and their rooms are clean.


 I am exhausted.  It's a lot harder to yell and screech than to ask nicely. I wish my kids heard me when I ask nicely. The first four-hundred and twenty times or so. Even better, I wish they could just pick up after themselves. 


Oh well. All's well that ends well. The house is clean. Finally.