Mornings

We have only 2 kinds of mornings in my house: The ones that include me yelling, and the ones that don't.

I'll let you guess how often that second option happens.

Sometimes I'm yelling in a controlled way, more like speaking in large type. This is not the more common way I seem to communicate with my offspring.


Why is it that children do not ever seem to hear what you are saying until it's being said about 40 decibels louder than a jackhammer?

Example:
This morning, James woke up Oliver in some way that really made Oliver mad. MAD, mad.
So, imagine my glee when I was awakened to a shrill, impressively loud shriek being emitted from the floor on my side of the bed. (Why is it never on D's side?! Just answer me that.)
I immediately felt the urge to yell.
But I didn't.
Don't laugh. I honestly struggled with the thought of picking up both of my children by the scruff of their necks, hauling them to their room and depositing them in their beds for the mother of all time-outs.
But I didn't.
Instead, I calmly asked what happened. Score one for personal restraint.

But the fun didn't end there. Oh, no.
It truly seemed that every 5 minutes or so I would say the same phrase: "James, don't touch your brother".
"James, don't touch your brother."
"James! don't touch your brother."
"James. do. not. touch. your. bro-ther."
Jamesdon'ttouchyourbrother!


This can't be unique. I'm not that special.
I may just need a little assurance that
a. I am sane
b. my children are normal. Or as my sister-in-law says: It's age-appropriate crap-behavior.
c. I'm not permanently scarring my kids.


Now, if you'll excuse me, apparently, I need to go play trains.