If it was physically possible to drop kick a Pontiac Trans Am....I would have done it by now.

A rookie mistake when parenting is being overly ambitious. And being foolish enough to start special traditions with your kids, because when there's one of them it's easy and seems fun. Then you wake up one morning, and it's 15 degrees outside, five kids and a whole bunch of empty shoes to fill.

I like the St. Nicholas tradition. When I had two kids, I used it as a time to give them new shoes for Christmas. And that was very exciting for them. When that got to be a bit challenging, timewise, sizewise, moneywise, I downsized to Christmas socks or slipper socks  or something festive. Accompanying all gifts was some chocolate and treats.

Suddenly it was December 5th and Baba oh so helpfully reminded everyone else that they needed to leave their shoes out. And of course they all left a pair out not the one as dictated by tradition. Baba even made sure that Cinco had her shoes out.

And so I came to one of the hardest decisions for me to date. Do I write a letter purportedly from St. Nicholas chastising the absurdly over the top shenanigans of my children, or do I allow the good saint to stay in favor with my children and I do my dirty work myself. I have to say, that's a very unpleasant thought.

It's not that I have bad children. It's just that in my family we celebrate Festivus every single day. There are feats of strength that inevitably result in the airing of grievances, loudly and angrily. And then engage in more feats of strength to express how truly grieved they are by....whatever.

It's gotten so bad that Baby was shrieking in the middle of the kitchen "MOOOOOM! Baba isn't cleaning the kitchen! " (It's a joint chore) Of course Baba was taking the recycling out as part of cleaning the kitchen and Baby pounced on the opportunity to be grieved. At this point Baby is in gold medal contention.

I made Mac brush his teeth and change his underwear. While not as grievous as the washing of X-Man's face I engaged in, Mac was broken up over the need to remove his Batman underwear....BATMAN Mom!!!!

The girls have to share a bedroom. Yet both seem to be insulted by the possibility of eye contact. Although they present a united front if the boys try to enter their room. Unless.....there is possibility of a large uproar if Baba gives Mac permission to come in while Baby rages.

Back and forth. Louder and more obnoxious. The bickering escalates until I loudly decree that if they have oxygen with which to fight, it means they aren't working hard enough around the house. While this doesn't end the squabbling, it does reduce it to mere hissing.

Then, as I'm cleaning up the office, I stumble upon a pile of Christmas cards that Baby's made for everyone in the family. They were next to the book Baba's writing for Mac. So, the tirade from St. Nick was shelved for another year.

Forget bombing Syria, we should all focus our rage on Sweden, because they gave the world this. And that folks, is true terrorism. I was showing it to the father figure and had to pause it lest it give the fruit of his loins nightmares.

This morning's panicked conversation went something like this....
"The keyboard won't work on the computer" 
"Is it plugged in?"
"Of course it's plugged in. That would be the first thing I'd check." 
"Well then I'll have to take a look at it when I get home."

There is a massive jungle of wires around the computer. Apparently there are several that run from the keyboard and plug into the back of the computer. And many of them are green. Long story short, the keyboard works. And has been plugged back in.

There were many errands to run today. And a lot of waiting for the contractor to arrive at the house. I think everyone ended up frazzled. There was copious amounts of screaming coming from the back of the car and I might I have asked in a raised tone of voice "What the sam hill is going on back there?" Mac helpfully announced "Just now's the time of the day that we fight." Well then.

As Baba got kicked out of the car for her soccer practice and we headed off to Baby's, I heard Baby hissing at Mac "and then you are going to get a disease that makes your hair fall out and red spots all over your body and your breath will really stink." Mac wailed out "Baby! That's really not polite!"

He has a point. And I'm torn between finishing school or military academies for my little darlings.

In a moment of superb fail, Baby walked in on the father figure and I engaged in a heated exchanged of varying opinions. She looked askance, so I had to reassure her “don’t worry honey, there’s no one else I’d rather fight with than daddy.” The father figure helpfully added “It’s true.” I’m not sure what he was referring to, my pleasure in proving him wrong or his obstinate wrongness. Either way, she responded “But when do I get to watch THOR?” Because in the end it wasn’t the disagreement that concerned her, it was the interfering with her evening plans.

Watching Mac and X-Man take a bath together is like watching Jack Sprat and his wife.  X-Man takes the wifely honors in this one. He’s within seven pounds of his brother, who is older by for years. He’s also getting more frustrated by his almost ability to communicate. Or at least he assumes that’s why I don’t feed him constantly. Which is his preferred state of existence. Recently he found himself lying on the floor wailing. I had things to do, places I needed him to be and a baby in my arms. So I started rolling him with my foot. X-Man was so astonished that he was unable to stop his motion for a few moments. The result was he was outraged even more than before, especially since he had to get up off the floor in order to return to his previous location. But as his audience had moved on, he was quickly distracted by sunlight.

All the children have been enjoying visiting their future aunt and uncle. Mac knows future aunt Lolly’s name but still refers to his uncle, my brother, as “that guy.” He also has taken a particular delight in the future husband of his aunt, my sister.

What began as a game of chess devolved into a wrestling match, with Mac bellowing “I love playing with you and doing this and when you aren’t here I pretend you are” to his future uncle. And so the wild shenanigans continued. At one point Mac announced that he needed the future uncle to stay still so that Mac could slay him. Which is fine because he will be able to live forever……IN HEAVEN!!!!!  But Mac did have a qualification “Well, you could go to hell also, but I don’t want you to do that because then I can’t play with you.” According to Mac the way to get to Heaven is to give money to the poor, but only when no other rich people are. Also, he doesn’t know any prayers. He told his aunt “I am not joking,”  

And so, Mac will kill his uncle to be in order to wrestle with him in Heaven, where Mac entered because he gave money to the poor while not praying.

I’ve been moving in a haze recently. I think it’s a form of self-preservation. It seems the only option when your day starts out with Baby bellowing “Mom! Mac keeps saying that Madagascar is a real place!”  And when you are roped into a raging debate over which is a worse pet, a lemur or a weasel and which would you prefer to have mom? Deafness is not an acceptable answer.

This is how I found myself wandering through the grocery store looking for nontoxic sunscreens when it occurred to me that it was hard to walk. It certainly would be, since Baby had wrapped both her arms around my waist and had her head resting on my stomach. Ideal shopping cart pushing position. And Mac was on the other side, arms wrapped around me, hands pushing Baby’s arms off saying “NO I love mom more!”

Yep, a picture of domestic bliss we were. Struggling down the aisle, wiping X-Man’s drool off my arms, now functioning as ground zero in a tug of war as well. I guess I could bill myself as such a magnificent mom that my kids fight over how much they love me.  They also fight over whose eyes laid on a book first. Not who read the book first, not who touched the book first but who thought

about grabbing and reading the book. So, fighting over me doesn’t boost my ego as much as you might think.

However, I didn’t see the need to share that information with the little old lady who beamed at me. She saw a mother being hugged by her children. She didn’t recognize a demilitarized zone when she saw one. Mac was digging his fingers in under his sister’s arms growling “No she’s my mom”, Baby was tightening her grip around my hips saying “Mac, I was here first.” Valid points, both. And, more importantly, to the passersby nothing but a mother adored by her children.  I’m all about image, because most days, it’s all I got.

Eventually we made it to the checkout, where the candy distracted both of them. As we were leaving Baby pointed out that the cashier had the same name as she did. “She stole my name mom!” I pointed out that the lady was significantly older than Baby, so chances were she didn’t actually steal her name. “I guess you’re right mom. Well, she’ll die way before me and then it’ll just be my name.” Maybe it’s better if they just fight over who loves me more.

X-Man is sitting next to me, outraged. He’s playing with one of the set of Tonka trucks Santa brought him. Stupid Santa. There are six in the set and each has three different noises, so yeah, that’s eighteen unique noises in the hands of a nineteen month old. He was in Heaven all Christmas.

But now they are nothing but a source of frustration. He has his preferred cars, and which is the unfixable issue, his favorite noises. But they are on a three noise cycle. So he can only hear his favorite noise every three times. He keeps thrusting the offending car, with the offending noise at me. And I’m supposed to fix it. He doesn’t talk yet, but he does imitate the noise that he wants quite well. So through tears and rage, and assisted with a sniffly version of the siren he’s seeking, we struggle through together. He’s disillusioned as I don’t produce it immediately, followed by sheer joy that comes with finding the right sound. And then he rubs his nose on my shoulder, and we repeat the cycle.

Ah the joys of children playing. It’s a hilarious experience.  I remember the first really, truly, insane fight I had to break up between Baby and Baba. It was over an invisible flower. Yes, an invisible flower. And where it was to be placed on the baby doll’s head. So, being the understanding, good mom that I am, I gave each of them their own invisible flower. And left the room feeling satisfied. Only to again hear the shrieking and crying again. Because, each child had place her invisible flower on the exact same location on the baby doll’s head.  I believe this was the first time I exclaimed to my daughters “Are you guys for real?!!?” Not my finest moment after all.

They’ve gotten older, and their fights have too. Although it wasn’t that long ago that Baba came running out of their room yelling “MOM Baby won’t let my fairy come to her wedding!!!” Baby was hot on her heals explaining “She has a fever!!!!”

Adding Mac into the equation didn’t do much to mess with their groove. They would play house, along with Mac, Mac’s children would be his assorted baseball bats and trains. Not that there weren’t fights. Baby and Baba came out together to file a complaint. Mac was refusing to bring his knights to their ball. I commented that I believed that fell within Mac’s rights as a human being to not attend every ball his sisters threw.  Baby was completely baffled “But everybody loves a BALL!”

They keep each other entertained.. The girls build fairy houses; Mac builds a haunted house, complete with an octopus. I blame the grandfather who brought back a stuffed cuttle fish from some aquarium. Sometimes Mac hunts monsters with his gun, but more than once that has deteriorated into Baby, armed with his gun, running away screaming “He’s trying to bite me!” Mac, always helpful, shouting his own clarifications “No, I am going to pinch you!”

X-Man has started trying to keep up. He knows that he ought to be the center of attention. So he plows into the middle of whatever and sits himself down. X-Man is still cute enough that he will most likely be accommodated. Mac is the least likely to accept X-Man’s intrusions. Mostly because X-Man is primarily interested in Mac’s toys.

They play together well. I just hope the neighbors aren’t alarmed by the chalk outlines on the driveway.