OK. I know I have addressed this issue before, but the drama level around here has gotten out of control. Seriously.
A few examples.
Spencer is not a huge fan of haircuts. He behaves better for David, so that is sort of a boy outing thing. I like clean cut little boys. No hair on the neck or touching the ears. That's my preference (think I am militarized??) Plus, my baby boy has THICK hair. And he has 2 crowns. That makes stying tough when it is not recently cut. The barbers cut it so it lays down and as it grows, well, it does not lay down. Point being: this weekend, David was all ready to load Spencer up for a haircut. But Spencer, he did not want this. Not. One. Bit. I put him in the carseat with him crying. It kind of ripped my heart out except I know that he is just being overly dramatic. No one is going to hurt him. He is safe and with his father. And boys have to get more haircuts than girls. That is a fact. The child has been going to a barber since before he was a year old, and no one has ever cut his ear off or anything. He was pleading with me and bargaining. He even said, "Mommy! Some boys have long hair!" I told him not in my house and closed the van door. They arrived home a little while later. Spencer was not speaking to me. And David grinned and told me that as they were walking into the barber shop, Spencer through a pouty face said, "I DO NOT LIKE THIS DAY." Wow, the whole day was runied because of a little trip to the barber! He has stated using this phrase a lot. No more cookies, he does not like this day. Time for a bath, he does not like this day. Bed time, he does not like this day. Drama.
Then my Jessa. The queen of drama. She took a nap late in the afternoon over the weekend. She woke up in a somewhat ill mood. This is due to the fact that we woke her up. I mean, we did not want her up all night, you know? While she was sleeping, we had ordered sandwiches from Jimmy John's (our first time and they were GOOD!). Both babes like to eat subs with bacon and cheese. So I ordered them one. OK, the cheese was provolone and they are used to cheddar. This may have been my mistake. Anyway, my ill girl wandered into the kitchen and saw her sandwich. She came sashaying back into the den and calmly said, "I saw my sandwich. The cheese was white. I do not like white cheese. So, I punched that sandwich and I am not eating it." So I calmly replied, "Well, that is what we got you for supper. If you choose not to eat it, that is OK. BUT we are not getting you anything else." She looked at me and with huge tears in her eyes, and with no calm remaining in her voice, she said, "What?! You are not giving me anything to eat? You are just going to let me die?!" And she ran up to her room. Drah-Mah!
The other night the two boogers were playing. They can turn on a dime, so you have to at least be somewhat in tune with what they are doing. They go from playing school or artist to wrestling around on the floor or chasing each other around. So at one point, I could tell that they had changed from nice quiet play to running around rambunctious play. So within minutes, I can hear them start down the stairs. They were still laughing, so I was not terribly concerned. All of a sudden, Jessa appeared at the bottom of the stairs and collapsed at my feet shouting, "Help me, Momma! He is trying to kill me!" Spencer was hot on her heels, but he did not appear to be particularly homicidal at that point. But she was still convinced and still shouting, "Watch out! He is really trying to kill me. Seriously!" Ever so dramatic! (Although I prefer then funny dramatic comments to the hysterical ones.)
David is currently reading this and thinking that they come by their flair for the dramatic and their tendency toward exaggeration from me. But he is wrong. Oh well, I am starving to death and about to pass out, so I have better go eat something. I am so exhausted. And my head is killing me. (Just kidding, but since these are things that I say, David may have a point.)