The Proverbial "Gasket" = Blown

Okay, maybe I haven't blown a gasket but I'm dangerously close to becoming very annoyed.

Me: "Joseph, if you want some breakfast, go get yourself a bowl of cereal."
Joseph: "How come I have to get it for myself? Why don't you get it for me?"
Me: "Because you're old enough to do it yourself."
Joseph: "Mom, you always make me do stuff. You're lazy."

Where did I go wrong with this child? He is telling me I'm lazy because I make him serve his own breakfast? Last year he begged me to let him serve his own cereal because he wanted to be independent and grown up. And now this.

A few minutes later, the twins were driving a toy through a large puddle of spilled orange soda that I had forgotten to clean up earlier. So I asked them to stop. And then they kept doing it. So I gave them the choice to play in their room or go upstairs to play. They're now safely locked inside their room for "the duration."

As I finished cleaning up the orange soda and leaned against the leather sofa, the sofa made a mysterious sticky sound. I moved the blanket that was sitting on a sofa cushion to discover ... a HUGE puddle of orange soda soaked into the leather. Gaaaaahhhh. This was the point at which I started lecturing Joseph about how they don't seem to appreciate anything we have, how his father and I were raised poor and don't take a single thing for granted, yadda yadda. I left out the part about walking uphill both ways because that's just silly.

So now it's 7:30 a.m. and the kids have already hit a few nerves. Telling Mom she's lazy? Check. Refusing to help out around the house? Check. Making messes? Check. Driving toys through the mess to expand the mess and simultaneously get the toys sticky? Check. Banishment to their room? Check. Trying to ruin an expensive piece of furniture? Check.

This is seriously one of those days that a few deep breaths will not help. I need a punching bag or airline tickets to Portos. I mean, LA.

*deep breath*

Okay, time to go do the impossible: patiently and lovingly deal with the world's messiest house and three extremely emotional and cranky children. And do it happily. And with composure. And maturity. And set a good example. And try not to binge on chocolate to cope with the situation. I've gained about eight pounds this summer (the pounds I was soo stoked to LOSE last summer!) so I seriously can't rely on chocolate.

And so I blog while the children duke it out in the other room. (An actual conversation I had with Joseph while blogging: "Mom, Thomas is crying like he's hurt." "Yeah? Fine. Go check on him. But don't let him out." In my defense, I know when Thomas is crying in pain and he was not crying in pain; it was more of an "Elijah just took my toy" cry.)