She started it

I'm pretty sure this bag of chips is resting over, and covering up remnants of cake. It's a balance of guilt and guiltless, I think. Don't you?

Because most days are real effn funny around here, I thought I'd include the not-so-funny parts of mommydom.

This morning, I dropped off Lucy at school today with my finest silence and Mommy Dearest glare. I've never seen Lucy hustle out of the car so fast.

I dropped her off individually from Max because....well, let me back up.

Lucy has a consistent behavior of wanting the bigger piece and she has to have it first. Always. Now, I am fully aware, that I am usually the first in line at any party dinner. But I'm not grabbing the utensils out of people's hands (just one time, and it was cake, for goodness sake), or shoving them. Okay, again, just one time, and it was for cake. But Lucy has to have it first, and the most. "Max got more than me." Is her mantra. And half the time she says that, she's already inhaled a couple of spoonfuls in her quest to prove that indeed there is less on her plate.

What is fair to her, is what is to her soonest, and the most. Thankfully, this seems to only take effect at home. Quite frankly, I'm pretty sure she took up the most room in my womb. And she was Baby A - sighting loudly, I'm certain, "Me first!" She does not carry this trait over to her social skills at school, even making sure in her dance class to make sure everyone is happy and feels great about themselves. So, that's nice. However, that she can't do the same for her own twin brother infuriates me.

Last night, Lucy and Max wanted ice cream. They are fortunate that we have it, don't you think? So, we made the irrational suggestion that they fix their own ice cream. That was our first mistake - allowing independence and ice cream and all that. Because before we knew better, there was an all out verbal war about who got more ice cream.

We started in on them to stop arguing. Max couldn't drop it. And that's when we surveyed the offending disbursement of ice cream. Lucy got to it first, and served herself up all but one teaspoon of it. We continued to make the mistake of allowing them to right the situation. Verbal distress continued. And when Lucy wouldn't do it, she wouldn't relent and give some of her ice cream for the sake of fairness, we made her go to her room without the ice cream at all.

Max never even made the suggestion that since she'd gone to her room, maybe he could have her abandoned ice cream. Instead, after a respectable 20 minutes up in her room, and the ice cream had melted, he asked permission to go up and talk to Lucy and asked if she could be released from her room.

Lucy comes downstairs, all is well. And then it was bedtime.

This morning, we were getting them ready for school, and while Lucy was taking her 40 minute shower and using all the hot water, we explained to Max that once again, I got caught with being low on milk. I'll go to the store today and get more, but for this morning, be sure to only use enough for his cereal and leave enough for Lucy. We reinforced the sharing theme and went on our way.

Meanwhile it's Dress-Like-A-Cowboy Day or Western Day or something. The kids want bandanas. We have bandana's all over the house, in laundry, on the floor, in baskets, until of course, we're in need of them. And I venture into every drawer, every cabinet, every pile of towels all over the house to find only two bandanas. One is like a bandana rap, kind of the size of a tie. It's some kind of cooling mechanism my mom got for me for my birthday. It's that red western bandana print, so it works. The other one was an orange bandana. Lucy insists that the orange one is hers. Max makes do with the red tie bandana. Clearly, if they would just swap bandanas, the red one looks a bit more feminine. But Lucy would have nothing of it. Just like Veruca Salt "BUT I WANT THE ORANGE BANDANA! It's MINE!"

I made one last rally and cornered her in the bathroom, just the two of us as she brushed her teeth. I explained that the red one is cuter and would look better on her. I started explaining about all the recent talks on being selfish, and could she please help her brother out with this one. I saw the eyes glaze over as she mentally went to her best defendant's argument. And she said "I REALLY WANT THE ORANGE ONE!"
Perhaps since I'd only had one cup of coffee, I yelled "FINE! OFCOURSE YOU DO, LUCY" in my meanest mommy voice yet.

I stomped down the stairs and returned to an even better and older argument with Lucy: to dry or not to dry your hair. That is the question. I yelled up to her that she better dry her hair, that I would not be taking her to school if her hair was wet.

Then I went to clean the kitchen and noticed a few cheerios floating in a half full bowl of milk.

"Max did you have all the milk in your cereal?"

"No, that's Lucy's. I didn't have cereal because I knew Lucy would want cereal for breakfast."

I considered the paperwork for sainthood for Max, and then looked at the clock. It was time to go to school, and I still hadn't heard a hair dryer. Oh, this shit is on.

I explained I was taking Max to school, but not Lucy. Lucy looking shocked at the fact that I wasn't letting her get away with ignoring my "No wet hair to school" policy.

"You better dry that hair."

I took Max to school. He was petrified for her. Too bad she wasn't at all. I came back, got Lucy, asked if her hair was dry. She said yes. And I yelled at her and lectured her the entire 5 minute ride to school. But before I let her out of the car, I thought to check her hair to see if it was dry. It was not. It was dry-er, but still damp. I considered pulling out of the drop-off line and taking her back home to dry it. That'll show her. No it won't. And so, today, my daughter got out of the car and ran, hustling faster than I've ever seen her move with my last words to her being: "YOU KNOW WHAT DRY HAIR IS! YOU KNOW! AND YOU KNOW THIS IS NOT DRY!"

I hate that I yelled at her on the way to school. I want to right that. But in doing that, I'm concerned it'll smoothe over two points: don't be selfish with your brother, and don't go to school with effn wet hair.

And so, for the rest of the day, I am bound to resist the urge to pick her up from school early just to hug her, to bring her lunch, or even just to call or email her teacher and explain. And then what. Wouldn't that be a fantastic email?

Dear Teacher,
I was a gigantic asshole to Lucy this morning. In my defense, she started it. Can you see what you can do to overcompensate for my jerkness? Thanks.

Lessons for the day:
Never go to bed angry.
Never scream at your kid and then send him/her off to school.
Never go to school with wet hair.
You'll get more ice cream if you share. Because I'll send you to your room if you don't share, and you'll not get any.

It has been suggested that perhaps I am harder on Lucy than on Max. Good point. If find that ironic, because I'm always concerned I'm spending more time and energy with her than Max. Or it could it be that perhaps she's harder on me? Sigh. Fine. I'm working on it.

That's how I roll: uneasy, unresolved.
What's your not so finest mommy moment?

Song of the Day: Ice Cream by Sarah McLachlan (too easy and poignantly perfect) it's from the Mirrorball album - best version ever.

***Follow-Up***
I went to pick up the kids at school today. But apparently, they opted to walk home instead. I can't imagine their conversation on how they arrived at that one. I pick them up every day. But I guess they didn't want to electively get in the car with me. I did squeal the wheels a few times for emphasis in my morning lecture. So, that they didn't want to get back in the car with me, I suppose is a good step. I wasn't mad that they walked home, but relieved to find out they were home safe.

Ricardo met me at the door and explained that when they got home Max had the orange bandana on, and Lucy had the red one on. As soon as Lucy got to school and then to Max, she gave him the revered orange bandana. I was overwhelmed with joy and purpose in my minivan freakout. It worked! It worked! But when I walked in the door, Lucy glared at me and went up to her room.

So, we worked all that out. Even the wet hair issue. All is right with the world. For now anyways.

***Follow up #2***
AND THENNNNN...I went to help Lucy clean her room in an effort to be fair (I picked up Max's earlier)...and low, tucked under a babydoll in a basket, was the OTHER ORANGE HANDKERCHIEF!