Instead of 911 I Need Dial Dr. Phil!

They are not going to make it through the summer – and they are not even out of school yet.  Still have one more week of school to go, they get out next Friday.

Either they are going to need some serious intervention from Dr. Phil or the good doctor is going to have me on a show entitled, “When Moms Finally Crack and Go Postal.”

The fighting, the bickering, the name-calling, is absolutely driving me insane.  I remember my brother and I did not always get along with each other – but we also were not vindictive with each other.  We didn’t purposely go out of our way to torment each other, most of the time we got along just fine.  We were the only ones that either of us had to play with, so I guess we almost had to get along with each other if we wanted to play with someone other than ourselves. 

It isn’t just with each other either.  Jonathan seems to become more and more hyperactive and mischievous as the days go on.  It is as though there is a little gremlin sitting on his shoulder, just egging him on to do more to his brother, to sass and back talk me.  He doesn’t dare do any of this in front of his father (except the brother tormenting at times) so I’m wondering just what it is that DAD does that MOM doesn’t do?  When he has a problem with something, I listen to him.  I give him the benefit of my experience and explain situations to him the best way that I can for him to understand.  I spend time with him every evening one on one when he comes home from school and before he goes to bed. 

I’ve read books, I’ve joined groups for children with ADHD and with anger issues – and every single thing that I have attempted just has not worked that great for either one of them.  I am really coming to my wit’s end here.  The screaming match today escalated over a game controller that belonged to Tre.  He wanted to use it to play a game with his friend who came over to play – and Jonathan didn’t want to give it up because he was using it (YESTERDAY) to play a video game.  Hence, the screaming match.

Now the two of them are sitting in the living room with a friend each (so there are four boys in the living room) and they are being just as nice and polite as can be to each other and watching wrestling on the television.

I think it’s a conspiracy to drive me crazy and get me out of the house so they can have a testosterone-only household.  I must be the voice of reason and I must be done away with.

I hate being outnumbered three to one and a half.  (The dog’s a girl but she can only do so much.)  Maybe I should sic the dog on all the men in the house and make it ours again.

I think Dr. Phil just might approve.