My “What the %^&* Moment” & Why You Should Be Careful What You Wish For by Nucking Futs Mama
Topic: What the %^&* Is Going On Here?
When my twins were younger, I used to worry about my son being so timid around his sister. He’d seriously let the girl walk all over him. She’d steal his toys, interrupt his stories, and pretty much veto every single one of his ideas. And surprisingly, the boy would just sit there and take it like a friggin’ lump on a log. I kept hoping and praying that the poor kid would finally stand up for himself. And after one fateful “What the %^&* is going on here?” afternoon, he FINALLY did just that.
Before we turned our basement into a giant kid arena, we were using a teensy tiny room on our second floor as the playroom. This particular room became known as the “choo-choo room” due to the five thousand battery-powered trains that were bursting at its seams. I would often send my kids up to the “choo-choo room” when I needed a second to breathe after spending 24/7 with them day in and day out. You see, these were the B.S. Days (Before School Days) when I didn’t have even one little break from being Mama.
During one of my little parental time-out moments, I was deep into my second round of “SERENITY NOW!!!” breaths, when I heard bloody murder screaming from up above. This was quickly followed by a series of scuffling and shuffling that ended with a loud “Bang!” As I conquered the stairs two steps at a time, I had no doubt that I was about to walk into a ridiculously horrific crime scene.
As I rounded the corner, my eyes grew as large as a Vegas stripper’s chest size at the sight that lay before me. There in the “choo-choo room” was my son, pinned against the wall by my daughter whose hands were in an all-out death grip around his throat. I had to try like hell to hold back the inevitable “What the %^&* is going on here?” outburst that was threatening to escape from my mouth. Instead, I sprung into referee mode and separated Little Miss Muhammad Ali from her prospective victim.
While I never really learned the true reason for that particular smackdown, something certainly ignited a spark in my son that day. From that moment on, the dude seemed to really grow into his own cojones. It was as if Dee Snider himself had embodied a “We’re not gonna take it” mantra into his little soul. Now I don’t just have to worry about him, but I have to worry about the two of them actually killing each other. So I guess the moral of that little story is to be REALLY careful what you wish for (unless you’re into breeding the next Mike Tyson, that is. . .)
The Write On Project 
Sometimes boys just have to learn it on their own! It happened to me, too, when I was a kid. My sister, who was about 11 months younger than I was (Irish twins) was a bit of a bully, and resented the fact that she wasn’t oldest. She was also a hell of a lot more aggressive than I was! One day, though, I snapped and totally let loose. She never bothered me again after that day!
This sounds so much like my kids! I can definitely relate.