Feeling like such a mom.

There are some days when... I feel like... a mom. These are days when my mother is either gone, or outside... doing... yard work, gardening, or... whatever else it is that she does. On these specific days guess who gets the responsibility of being the... how would you put it... lady of the house? I guess that'll work. This person gets the duties of, cleaning the house, taking care of the laundry, cooking, and breaking up sibling fights. So, guess who this person was? Me. Yes, little 'ole me. Since, I happen to be the only other girl in the house, I get the duties. Today was one of those days. The mamacita (that is spanish for mama... ok, that is MY own spanish word for mama) has a desk she is refinishing, so, she went out this morning to work on it. And I'm left with, a uncleaned house, and laundry, oh and our pet coon... I mean.... uhh... Nathan.


I start by putting the dishes in the dishwasher. Then clean the bathroom. And then, straighten up the living room. Then, I must go back to the kitchen and clean it up better. I start by spraying the cabinets with bleach. Nathan comes in.

Me: "You need to do your math Nathan."
Nathan: "I don't know how many pages to do!."
Me: "How many do your usually do?"
Nathan: "Two."
Me: "Well, then. Do two."
Nathan: "But mama might want me to do more!"
Me: "Well, if she wants you to do more then you then she can tell you whenever she gets in. But right now you can go ahead and do two."
(Nathan screeches in frustration)
Nathan: "Sometimes you make me want to bang my head on a wall."
Me: "Well then do it hard."

Ok, that might have been mean. But he was being very frustrating. After threatening to go get mama he finally sits down. He tells me.

"I can't help it that I hate math."

No, of course you can't help it. Believe me I feel the child's pain. I myself hate math. I sat down last night and stared at a page of math for several minutes. With the same thought rolling through my mind. I hate math. (Ok, there might have been other thoughts but I won't mention them)

I don't do well in math, I just can't comprehend it. So, as I said. I can understand his pain. But, I do think it would save him a lot of pain and heartache if he'd just do it. And there are lots of things we have to do in our life that we don't like. Sadly. School is just one of those things.
So, after awhile he is instructed to go outside. Well, he doesn't want to go outside. Too bad little boy, you have to go outside. I tell him to go out. "But I don't wannnt toooo." Outside I tell you! I tell him a couple of times. He... makes some kind of noise. I don't really know how to describe it. Its between a screech and a yell. Then I look in here from the kitchen and see him sprawled out face down on the floor, inches from his room. Oh dear. The poor, innocent little child! He's passed out from... the math! Yes, all that math he had to do just wore out his brain and it made him pass clear out. Me, being the kind, caring sister I am dash over and turn him over. Crying. "Nathan! Wake up! Oh please wake up, don't go into the light!" Tears are streaming down my face. And then! A eyelid flickers. And! OH! He's awake!

Ok... so... maybe that is... stretching the truth... just a little. What I actually did was holler at him to get up and go get his boots on, and then go outside. See, aren't I kind and caring? Finally, I have to take drastic measures. I call him a..... city kid. And oh! that gets him going. "I AM NOT A CITY KID." and, blah, blah, blah, and then, "Fine! I'll go!"

Being called a city kid is much worse then being called a pack rat, let me tell ya. Jennifer and Taylor used to call me one when I was younger and it just made my blood boil. I did not want to be called a city kid, to me it was just like being called a sissy, or a wimp. It was always the ultimate insult. So, now, I use it on Nathan. But only when he's acting like one. I know, I'm cruel. I sure hope I never acted like one.... Anyway. I see the little... child, walking into the living room. I ask him why his socks and boots aren't on. In a very snappy tone he says. "I had to get my SOCKS out of the DRYER!" Yikes, sorry, didn't mean to hit a nerve there. Oh yeah, and he fires me. From being a jerk, yeah. He's already fired me from being mean, and this time it was from being a jerk. If he keeps firing me I'm not going to have any jobs left.

Well, anyway. He finally goes outside. And I continue with my other mom duties. I try to keep myself from feeling like a mom by listening to rock music. Moms don't listen to rock music right? I know mine doesn't. Oh, sliding around on the kitchen floor, singing, and... yeah... Moms don't do that kind of stuff either do they? I do this while cooking dinner... another mom thing. We had hamburger meat mixed in with potatoes... or would it be potatoes mixed in with hamburger meat.... hmmmmm...... and, biscuits. Yeah. So, now. I'm going to be a teenager and neglect the rest of my duties and go ride. Wow, I'm such a rebel.

Later... oh wait, moms wouldn't say later... Ummm.... Farewell... that better?