This morning the kids moved so slowly that I’m pretty sure time travelled backwards. This would be great if I could combine it with becoming younger. Sadly that’s not how it works. This type of time travel accelerates the parental ageing process. It’s also totally infuriating. Plus it means I’m going to be late for work because time moves normally for everyone else. It’s just the kids who are stuck in this backwards moving time travel warp.
I counted to three. Over and over again. I begged and pleaded, prodded and pulled, threatened and growled. In the end, I was forced to sing.
What did you say? Sing?
Yes, you read that correctly. I’ve discovered what happens around the bend, and it’s a musical production.
I’m trying not to yell at the kids. My current alternative is singing. Because you can sing really loud, louder than yelling, and call it operatic parenting. Don’t worry, I’ll put together an instruction manual with soundtrack one day so you too can learn the Operatic Parenting Method.
I can hear the conversations already.
Son: Mom was singing at me again this morning.
Daughter: What did you do?
Son: I threw my dirty underwear on the living room lamp and it started on fire.
Daughter: No wonder she sang. You’re in big trouble. She only sings when she’s really, really mad.
Son: I know. Can I hide in your room? I think I can still hear her singing.