I did not want to do a lot of stuff today but my parents dragged us all out onto the water. I would have stayed home but I was promised brownies. I thought I was getting normal sized brownies, buuuut nnnoooooooo… of course they were one bite brownies. Yes, one bite. Not two. One. One normal bite is the size of those brownies but i only take tiny nibbles so i managed to get a lot of bites out of that brownie anyways…
The trip. the trip was meh. We started out by getting into canoes and kayaks. I did not want to go but my dad convinced me with brownies. I just wanted quiet but no. R just had to be in the canoe and kept talking the entire trip and my arms were hurting. When we got to the island we ended up running through pointy bushes.
Okay, I’m back now. K had to stop so she could go to bed.
Do you need closure on that anecdote? We had canoed (and kayaked) across the lake and tied up our watercraft at a bridge. We told the kids it was time to explore, and once again we hung back and allowed them to lead us. Mr. December and I disagreed about the implementation: I argued that we should be teaching them how to use a compass and a map, and what to do if they get lost, before turning them loose in the woods; he countered that he was trying to encourage them to be fearless and to relish the exploration. As usual, the disagreement wasn’t resolved. The kids eventually were able to lead us back to the boats.
It’s amazing, the amount of complaining coming out of that kid. Right now she’s going through a growth spurt or something, because she’s eating all. the. time. An hour after breakfast she warmed up a huge bowl of chicken soup for herself. She warmed it in a pot, which she then left on the stove (which she left on) while she went to eat it. Sated, she brought the bowl and spoon back to the kitchen and left them on the counter. Later on, N was cleaning up and accidentally knocked the bowl over. Soup and noodles spilled all over the counter and the floor, and then I noticed the pot with the burned bottom and a few sad carrots sitting in it.
Lest it sound like I’m digressing, I’ll finish the thought. The complaining is incredible because in reality, she does very little without being told, then nagged. And, like all of her siblings, she needs to be constantly redirected back to the task at hand. It’s exhausting. I’m almost ready to give up on chores and just do it myself, because it’s a heck of a lot less frustrating some days.
Someone with adult kids — please tell me it’s just the age and they’ll grow out of it. Please.