If Children Are a Gift from God, I’d Like a Receipt

I have been fortunate–Haleigh’s terrible twos and tenacious threes passed me by without a lot of fanfare. Haleigh has, when compared to other kids, been most gracious and mannerable as a baby, then toddler, and now preschooler. When she cried, I had God’s guarantee that something was actually wrong with her. When Ashleigh came along, Haleigh kicked it up a notch, but not so much that I became stressed. She clung to her dad for a little more attention and we all essentially made it through those first few months of a new baby.

As for Ashleigh, she was an excellent baby. As Haleigh became more mobile and more verbal, Ashleigh sat quietly with baba in hand. She napped at random intervals, hardly ever cried and often sat in one spot for long periods of time without blinking an eye. She slept at night like clock work, and I can count on one hand the number of times she’s actually been sick enough for it to warrant going to the doctor. To be honest, I thought she might be a little slow.

Well. Let’s fast forward A COUPLE YEARS.  Haleigh is almost 8 and Ashleigh is SMACK dab in the middle of her tenacious tenure as a five year old–though by her own admission, she is almost 6.  I love my kids dearly, but come onnnn!  Everything, everything, everything is an argument, and who argues with preschoolers and third graders?  Who has to explain themselves to a smarty pants 5 year old?  Who has to woosah every 10 minutes to keep from going ballistic?  Apparently, ME.

Oh, if only God had a return policy on mouthy, know-it-all little girls!  I’d be at the counter in a heart beat–not for a full refund or anything like that, just an exchange.   May that is harsh… maybe a heavenly pawn shop would suffice.  Then I could drop them off and pick up back up again when I was ready.

No?  Too much for t.v.?  Not really an appropriate thought to have about your kids?  Hmph.  Do you even HAVE kids?  Because if you did, I guarantee that you’d nod your head in agreement to the sentiment.  Sometimes, it takes all you got to not put your kids on the curb in the recycle bin.

Not that I ever would.  I mean, what would I have to talk about then?



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