Nanny 911

Does the anticipation of Santa Claus bring out the devil in children? Why doesn’t it work when I say, “Santa’s watching, you better behave?” Why do they just cackle and continue ripping ornaments off the tree?

All weekend long, my boys have been behaving like two spoiled brats. One would think that jumping on the furniture was entirely permissible. Every time I turn my back, one or the other starts boing-boinging away. Half the time, I don’t even have to turn my back, they do it right in front of me. How many time-outs does it take for the message to sink in? Apparently more than 63,897.

They also keep clobbering each other. My 3 year old has a mean right hook, and he hits Ben in the rib cage from behind. Ben shoves his younger brother hard enough to send him sailing across the floor, face first into the carpet.

They have each gone to their rooms about 50 times a day for the last three days. Candy has been banned since last week (except the morning Advent calendar chocolate). Now I have taken away (gasp!) all videos. Who’s really being punished with no videos? Yep, you know who.

Today at noon -- after a morning of bickering, hitting and stealing toys -- I reached my breaking point. John walked up to me in the kitchen and, with sneakers on, kicked my shin as hard as he could. No, I hadn’t taken his candy away or told him he couldn’t eat his oatmeal in the family room. He just saw me and decided I needed a swift kick to the shin bone.

As I put John in his high chair for a time out (I was about to serve lunch anyway), Ben saddled up to the dining room table and grabbed my glass of water. Besides the fact that I have a sore throat, he knows I don’t like him drinking from my glass. So I said, “Ben, put my glass down, please.” He looked up at me, smiled, looked down at my glass, and let a huge chunk of spit fly right into my water.

I, ever the picture of calm and serenity, started screaming like an insane person, until he went up the stairs to his room. Of course, as soon as I turned to the sink, John was laughing from his high chair because Ben had come back down stairs and was hiding out behind the couch or under the dining room table. And, I suppose, they had achieved their goal of turning me into a raving lunatic. So funny!

Just then, my mom called. I heard her voice and started sobbing. Sobbing. The kids rarely, if ever, get to me like that, but they got me good today. I guess me crying was better than me stringing them both up by their feet until their dad got home, which is what I really wanted to do.

Ever the soothing presence, my mom talked to both of the boys and told them to say sorry to me, which they did. Then she offered to take Ben for the weekend, Friday to Sunday.

I have a better plan. I think she should take me for the weekend.