Back on the Sauce

There are days when my children are little angels. Then, my alarm clock goes off and I realize those weren't my kids at all, but some faceless little dream people. *wink*



Honestly, my kids are great. Yes, they both have these larger than life personalities and, yes, they stress me out more often then I’d like but after I calm down I am usually able to giggle about some of the crazy things that they do and say. Today was one of those days…

My children were finishing up their chores when their friends stopped by to play. I told them they had to finish but their friends were welcome to wait for them since they were both so near completion. I told my daughter to vacuum her room which she did with no problem. Of course, she isn’t the one that seems to lack in the cleanliness department. My son, on the other hand, is a whole other story. (Mom, if you are reading this and I KNOW you are, thanks a lot for your parental curse and for the record my husband does not “trip” through the door so, HA!)

That boy, he is just perfectly satisfied with being funky. If I didn’t tell him to bathe he never would…EVER! Today I walked into his room and something just reeked. It smelled like a combination of rotten bologna and ass crack. When I told him his room was stanktastic, he retorted by saying, “I don’t smell anything.” Of course you can’t, you goober, you’re used to it. Most people don’t recognize their own B.O. especially if they are normally putrid.

While trying to decipher exactly where the stench was coming from without actually sticking my nose up to anything (I didn’t want to pass out, ok??), I told him to take the dirty clothes basket out of his room and change the sheets on his bed and then I’d come in there and Febreeze the shit out of the place. I, then, went about my task of cooking an exquisite meal aka Hamburger Helper.

Later, he came through the kitchen with his friend and said he was done and he was going to play outside. I specifically asked him, “Did you change your sheets?” “Yes.”, he said. Then I asked, “Did you make your bed?” (You got to be very specific!) “Yes.”, he said again. I told him after I finished getting our fancy grub going I would be taking a stroll into his room for verification.  He nodded and walked out the door.

Who thinks he did what was asked of him? Anyone? Anyone? Beuller? Beuller? If you guessed “not a chance in hell” you, my friend, are right! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!

Shockingly, when I went into his room his bed was made. For a second there (and only a second) the heavens opened up and a majestic being surrounded by a radiant white light extended his arms towards me and began to speak in some other worldly tongue. Then I realized the smell of week old gym socks and stale Funyuns were causing me to hallucinate. I glanced over to the dirty clothes basket and it was empty. So where were his sheets? I quickly held my breath and pulled back the comforter just enough to see the same army green sheets on his bed. Damn it, boy!!

At this point, I was angry that he didn’t change his sheets but I was furious that he had lied straight to my face. Enough is enough. It dawned on me that with my husband being away for quite some time I needed to pull in the reins before things got to out of control.

I marched outside and told him to come inside immediately. Once inside, I asked him again if he changed his sheets. He told me he did. I ask him where the old sheets were. He told me they were in his dirty clothes basket. Lies! Lies! Lies! So, I told him I smell bullshit and it stinks almost as bad as his room.

In my calmest yet stern voice (which by the way is more difficult to execute than you might think considering the present circumstances), I told him that I was fed up with his lies and from now on when he lies I will be putting a dab of hot sauce in his mouth. Now I’m not talking wimpy ass Tabasco either. I’m talking hot as a mofo, burning like the freaking sun in your mouth HAWT sauce! I whipped out my husband’s “a little dab will do ya” hot sauce conveniently called “After Death Sauce”. The sight of the bottle made my son start to cry REAL tears. Part of me wanted to take pity and let it go at that but I’m the Queen of Empty-Threats usually which is part of the problem with my kids lately. I knew that by not following through with this he would think he got over on me once again.

Carefully, I unscrewed the cap and put just a smidgen on my index finger. The boy kept backing away from me and I blatantly told him if I need to hold him down so be it. Finally, he gave in and I lightly touched his tongue with my finger. It was barely any but it doesn’t take much to make you feel it.

He proceeded to cry (and I don’t blame him) and pant with his tongue hanging out. I let him squirm for maybe a minute. I’m sure it seemed like at least a half an hour to him. Then, I handed him a glass of milk and a tortilla to help neutralize the burn.

Afterwards, I explained to him that the lying had to stop and this is the new way to remedy it. You lie. You get hot sauce in your mouth. Period. I’m considering implementing this for back talking as well. We’ll see.

Later after their friends went home, I noticed the vacuum in the middle of the floor. I asked the kids which one of them left it there. Of course, both of them said, “Not me!” I pretty much knew it was my daughter because she was the one I told to vacuum earlier. So, I turned to my son and said, “Boy, did you tell your sister what happened to you earlier when you lied to me?” He proceeded to tell her the tale of the sauce. Almost immediately, she leaped up and declared that it was, in fact, her and she raced to rectify the problem.

Maybe to some people this all seems cruel but I’ve never been one to really put my hands on my children other than a swat here and a slap there. I’m always cautious because I have a tendency to loose my temper and the last thing I want to do is hurt them. Now the previous statements are, by no means, me trying to explain myself to anyone that is reading this. I am merely stating facts. I am truly hoping that by giving them a taste of the sauce it will have a similar effect that smacking a toddler’s hand does when they touch an electrical outlet. If I can’t get them to stop the lies now at the young ages of 10 and 7, I am royally fucked when they reach their teen years. I got to stop the madness.  Too bad kids don't come with a manual or at least a website...

Just a quick note here…

I had every intention of blogging about my children and their entrepreneurial tendencies but the above topic had me so heated I had to vent. Hopefully, I’ll get to my children and the future of sales pitching tomorrow evening. That is, if neither of my children don’t end up starting Armageddon between now and then. Cross your fingers for me and my sanity.