All we are saying...

Last week a friend, in passing (literally…she was literally walking past me), commented that she had given some thought to my identity in the whole “dictator/anarchist/bureaucrat/assassin" thing. Her suggestion was that I was actually the Diplomat of the family. Or maybe the Translator. My first reaction was to be insanely flattered. Someone was actually reading this, and had actually thought about it. My second reaction was, “Of course! How perfect! How on earth hadn’t I thought of that before!” I was basking in the brilliance of these thoughts when the Bureaucrat turned to me (he had overheard the conversation while pretending to be absorbed in a law book) and mumbled in my ear, “Yeah right. More like the ANGRY diplomat.”

I would have been offended , but he was SO right. Oh sure, I like to consider myself a peacemaker, kind and gentle, meek and mild and all that jazz. But in the context of my family and their delightfully divergent personalities, I would make a TERRIBLE diplomat. I would quit, Jet Blue Guy style, grabbing myself a drink before hurling myself out an emergency exit, “Sayonara, suckers!”

Okay, so strike the “Diplomat” thing. Maybe Translator is more apt? After all, I really do understand the various personalities of my family members, I speak Anarchist and Bureaucrat fluently, and have at least reading proficiency in Dictator. Surely Translator works? But alas, again I would be the flustered and frustrated Translator, unable to muster the patience to do my job adequately. Fine. I’m neither of these attractive alternatives. But then, to risk sounding like a soul-searching 19 year old, who am I?

It came to me like a vision. Okay maybe I’m being a touch melodramatic, but that’s my thing, let me have it. Anyway, it came to me like a vision…or maybe it just came to me. I am,…drum roll please…the Militant Peace Protester. I start off the day gazing all lovingly at everyone, dropping flowers into gun barrels, holding hands with perfect strangers, swaying, and singing “Give Peace a Chance,” but I end the day throwing rocks, screaming obscenities, and dodging nightsticks and tear gas…metaphorically speaking, of course.

I’m frustrated because we can’t all just get along and live in harmony and love each other without coercion, and in my frustration I lose it and lash out. In the morning, I sound like something out of a parenting how-to manual:

"Sorry darling, but that isn't an option. I understand that you are frustrated that Mommy is asking you to go potty in the bathroom instead of on the living room carpet. But can you think of a better way to express your rage to Mommy that doesn't involve drawing blood from her forearm with your teeth and flinging your tiny feet into her face? Mommy feels sad when you give her a black eye."

By the time we’re running 10 minutes behind schedule it sounds more like this:

“What is WRONG with everyone?! !! Don’t you people have any sense of URGENCY!? Why can’t we all just do what we’re supposed to!?!? And stop tearing Sissy’s pigtails out! I MEAN IT! No scalping your siblings!! Why can’t you two just LOVE EACH OTHER!!!!???!?!?!?!?”

And so it goes. So yeah…Militant Peace Protester. Maybe they’ll have to cart me off in a paddy wagon after a few more years of this. We’ll see. In the mean time, I’ll try to act more like I feel…a diplomat, a translator. Or maybe just a Canadian citizen (they’re stereotypically friendly and polite, right?). Or maybe I’ll just brush up on my passive resistance techniques.

"Good" Housekeeping Tip of the Week: Simple Storage Technique

As I pride myself in being something of a up-and-coming Martha Stewart, I thought I'd make it a point to share with you some domestic tips and techniques that I find make for a cozy home.

Tip #1: Simple Storage

Efficiency is key to a well-run household. Try keeping anything you may use during the week out in plain sight, where it is easily accessible. I find that the living room floor is best for this sort of thing. Just spread any items you would normally “put away” over the entire floor. That way, when you’re looking for the baby wipes, all you have to do is trip right over them and, voila! There they are!

This will also give you loads of new-found free time. Instead of wasting time “tidying” and “straightening,” when you are through with something, just drop it on the floor, wherever you happen to be at the moment.

BONUS: This storage method also provides a great game for the kiddos. It’s like 3-D Where’s Waldo, with socks/pens/scissors/permission slips/etc. instead of a dorky guy in a striped hat.

Can you find: A dump truck, a book of essays by a Pulitzer Prize winning author, a mute dwarf, a halfway decent credit card offer, safety scissors, the letter "s," and an overpriced hair bow in this picture?

bitty love triangles

I guess charisma comes with the territory of being a dictator. I never expected it would happen this early, but our little Dictator has been working her charismatic charms on all of the little kindergarten men, and as a result, has become something of a heartthrob.

Last year there were hints of this dilemma. While she was swooning over a classmate who happened to look good in a hat, another little guy--we'll just call him Quiet Little Red-Haired Boy--was pining for her attention. She came around eventually, but he endured a great deal of wistful waiting before she realized that maybe Quiet Little Red-Haired Boy was worthy of her time.

This year, it's Little Blond-Haired Boy, who is equally adorable, sweet and intelligent (I don't know about the Dictator's taste in men, but I do know that the ones who pursue her are parent-pleasers for sure...let's hope this lasts through college). This year, the Dictator took less time to notice. I suspect that this is partly due to the wisdom that comes with experience, and partly due to his following her like a lost puppy for the entire first month of kindergarten, begging her to marry him. Whatever the reason, she relented early and began enjoying the attention her romantic entanglements elicited from the rest of the class.

Unfortunately these attentions were not all positive. The superior social sophistication of kindergarteners brought with it a problem that the Dictator, with only preschool relationship experience, could not have anticipated--jealousy. I'm not sure that there aren't equally worthy boys in the Dictator's class who would make excellent matches for those kindergarten girls seeking a committed 5-year-old relationship. But let's be honest, ladies, they're always more desirable when they're taken, aren't they? Little Blond-Haired Boy is no different. No sooner did the Dictator and Little Blond-Haired Boy begin to exchange vows in a lovely, quaint playground ceremony, than the Dictator's braids were set upon by a jealous and enraged female rival, bent on "objecting" to the union in a dramatic fashion.

Of course, this did nothing to dissuade the Dictator, who now saw the relationship as less of a novelty and more of a challenge. "Little Blond-Haired Boy really likes me the best. He wants to marry me. But he doesn't like Enraged Braid Puller at all, and that makes Enraged Braid Puller ticked. I think SHE wants to marry him!" she says with a smug grin. Lovely.

There are other more subtle jealousies present, too. Pretty Headband Girl who lives next door to Little Blond-Haired Boy and was, up until now, his best friend, burst into tears and fled into her house upon seeing the Dictator approach Little Blond-Haired Boy's house for a play date. And I'm pretty sure I saw rolling 5-year-old eyes when the topic was brought up on the day I volunteered in the Dictator's classroom.

Thankfully, I have complete confidence that the Dictator, like her mother, will become the world's biggest nerd by the time she hits 8-years-old, thereby resolving these issues quickly. At least, I hope that will be the case. Because, apparently, hell hath no fury like a kindergartener scorned.