Button Pushers

Admittedly, I am a bit stressed out lately and I am allowing my buttons to be pushed in a major way.

The control button: What is it about kids and food these days? Drama Boy has been trying to turn meals into a stand-off over what he refuses to eat. The problem is there's no telling what will be offensive to him at any given meal. Squeaker eats like a horse most of the time but when she's feeling particularly emo will stare moodily at her food, daring someone to tell her to eat it. So I do. Dang buttons. Both the little boys have been kind of iffy eaters and now eat almost like normal people. But when they don't like something they aren't shy about saying so or going into full blown whining hysteria if denied dessert when dinner is uneaten.

The eject button: Drama Boy's exit campaign is just irritating this time around. He hates his social worker because he always does the opposite of what DB wants. This line was also spun by Sparky even though they both got what they asked for last time: Sparky got to go and DB got to stay. He did ask Ana this morning, as did Sparky when he left, that if he moved could he still come to visit? Too bad we're so mean to them that they can't wait to get away from us.

The escape button: We have dogs, you know. If you stand there with the front door open they will run out and disappear. This is a theory that the kids test repeatedly.

The insert button: Is it possible to have an adult conversation without Squeaker or Lucky butting in? I don't think so.

The caps lock button: SQUEAKER! THE VOLUME! THAT TONE!

The backspace button: I keep getting shot in the face by The Boss's double-barreled index fingers. Step off, space ranger, you're in my bubble.

Not sure what's going on with the other finger there. He doesn't stick that one in my face, at least.

The delete button: We have some sort of magic mind eraser in our house so that whatever you told a child to do two minutes ago must completely escape his or her brain. Unfortunately it works on adults too. That has to be why I have to stand on the stair landing and try to remember why I was going up there in the first place.

The panic button: Not that one yet, thank goodness.