Sarcasm with a side of optimism.

Touchy Subject.

It's 5am, and I've just flipped open the laptop. However, I've been up twice already since I turned in at 11pm, and each awakening resulted in a scathing text message to my parents who are vacationing in NC. They're south, yet the other half of my extended family remains here, with me.

We truly do follow that extended family Chinese it-takes-a-village mentality, except in the case of my aunt, we're going to need some reinforcements. The Peace Corps would be nice.

So in trying to turn chagrin into stocisim, I will recount the events of this weekend as a string of facts starting from this point on.

Thursday, 5pm. The family arrives. I return from work as they're getting out of the car. They haven't started unloading yet. Greetings and hellos. Dinner. Soccer game. I come home exhausted and fall asleep on the floor in front of the TV in a sleeping bag. I awake to some tormented screaming for "appo juice" sometime around 4am.

Friday. 7am. Get up for work. The parents are already poking about in my bathroom. I curse them out with my eyes, sing Aretha Franklin's "Rescue Me", but I never get to any other lyrics aside from the title on repeat. We leave at the same time. It rained all day, and the kids were cooped up in the house. The aunt does not have a car. I return at 7pm after a fun happy hour. Two margaritas do have a noticeable calming effect. The kids are excited to see me only because of the limited exposure they've had to me. They think I'm my (nice) youngest sister. Until I say something sternly like, "You have five seconds to get out of my way. Five, four, three..." Since it rained all day, the park is soggy. The park is also inadequate when compared to what the kids are used to. We pack into the car and drive to the mall. There is a kiddie play area there that toddlers seem to enjoy. That assessment is made by the level of screaming heard when I usually pass it at Olympic sprinting speed. Except this time, it's closed for an unspecified reason. I cry inside and mentally bang my head against the wall. We go to the Disney store instead, but the kids quickly realize that looking and not buying is not fun. We go into a sneaker store because I was looking for trail running shoes, and Monica needed a new pair of fashion sneakers for school.

Here marks the turning point. I will recount bits and pieces of what I observed.

Monica finds a pair of sneakers for school. While she is slowly trying them on, the aunt eyes a pair of New Balance sneakers for Andrew (the 3 year old) and asks the clerk to bring out a size 9. Those turn out to be too small. The aunt wants Andrew's foot measured, but he doesn't want to accommodate as he recoils his foot and furrows his brow. The clerk brings out a 10, but those are too big and they do not make half sizes for children. The aunt is trying to wrap up the shoes to give back, telling Andrew that they don't fit. "NO!" he screams, grabbing a shoe. He holds it at eye level in a throwing position. The aunt gives Monica her credit card to pay, so she takes off for the register. At that moment, Andrew loses eye contact with his sister and his face blanches, and he enters panic mode. More screaming, "MONNKUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, MONKUUUUUHHHHH". Foot stomping, knee bending, fist making. Whining. Crying. All of these things escalating exponentially as time passes. The aunt tries to bring him over to where his sister is, but he's stubborn and refuses to budge. The aunt drags him over to the register where he calms a little at the sight of his sister, but once we exited the store and started walking, maybe we were 10 feet ahead, he starts again.

I instruct Monica to take her little sister from her mother. Let the aunt contend with this mess. We continue to walk ahead at a snails pace.

He drops down in front of his mother and wraps himself around her ankles. The aunt moves forward still. He then stands in front of her with his back toward her knees, pushing against her to prevent her from moving forward. The aunt moves forward still. He's whining and screaming this whole time hysterically, bright red in the face, and gagging from the effort. He throws himself down on the floor in front of her while trying to grab her legs at the same time.

I cannot believe what I am witnessing this Friday night at the mall. So I reach into my purse and snap a photo. (I should have taken a video, but I was shellshocked at this point.) The aunt is not amused. I don't care though. I need evidence.

Andrew carries on for the entire lengthy transverse section of mall where every single passerby pretends not to notice. The aunt is embarrassed and frustrated. "What do you want Andrew? Tell me, what do you want?", I hear over and over again.

We get back to the car. He pees in the bushes. It's 9pm. One more quick stop, then back to the house. I excuse myself and hide up in my room. A conversation with my mother takes place where I am clearly instructed not to do or say anything that might "make your aunt feel bad". I clench my teeth a little and focus on getting some sleep in preparation for my early morning bike ride.

Except for the screaming that woke me up two or three times. Blood curdling, bloody-blue-murder screaming, which seems to be a regular occurrence with these kids. So after the third night of this, rather than climbing into my car with the pillows and blankets still wrapped around me from my own bed and driving to Kara's or Craig's for some uninterrupted sleep, I am now out on the patio listening to the soothing sound of early morning bird chirping.

I have left out an entire day of events, but let me template it for you.

We go to (place). (Quantity of time) pass, and Andrew throws a temper tantrum. The aunt is embarrassed. Monica is jaded. I am surprised/irritated, but quickly recede into my yoga-centric happy place. Repeat this maybe two or three times in one day. Return back to the condo. Sleep. Wake up every two or three hours to (Child's name) screaming.

Now, it's none of my business to tell anyone how to raise their kids. But when I'm exposed to this circus and it's pushing my comfort level, and definitely my tolerance level, what am I supposed to do? There's already a don't-do-anything-to-make-your-aunt-feel-bad mandate in place. Unfortunately for her, I might not say anything, but you can read me pretty easily. I've taken solace in the fact that her life is not my life, and that this visit is merely a temporary inconvenience. A character building experience, if you will. Kara made the point that I can skirt the issue by saying something like, "Oh, I'm going to Craig's place to sleep tonight because it's been a really long and stressful week, and I just need a night of uninterrupted sleep before I go to work tomorrow." Unfortunately for me, I'm a very direct person and it would probably come out like this, "Your kids are driving me crazy with their inexplicable nighttime screaming episodes. I'm a light sleeper, and have enough trouble sleeping on my own. I need sleep. I'm cranky. I'm going to Craig's. See ya."

Monica put it best yesterday when she said, "The dog walks its owner. Woof."

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NOTE: If you think this is bad, it's important to note that it is actually worse in real life because I did not put any background information into this story.

posted by v @ 5:03 AM