I grew up (until age 11) in a house of three kids, two were later added as a result of my mom's remarriage.
So I usually say I grew up one of five.
It was mostly lots of fun.
I'm sure we were a handful, and I do remember times when we were more than just a handful.
Like the time (when there were only three of us) when we locked ourselves in my mom's room and we jumped out the window and ran for freedom.
She'd left us with a babysitter named Norman.
Norman was a neighborhood kid.
He was a soft spoken, gentle soul.
My dad would probably describe him as "limp wristed".
Anyway, Norman was really more like a girl babysitter.
And he sometimes got a bit bitchy.
Or he wanted us to do more clean up than we figured we should be doing.
Either way, one day we got fed up with Norman.
Or, we got bored.
And we jumped ship.
I remember that Norman didn't realize that we'd jumped out the window.
I know that because I could hear him pounding on the bedroom door.
And when we came back about a half hour later the poor thing was rolled in a ball on the couch, eyes puffy and red rimmed from crying.
We'd startled him so bad that he almost crapped his pants when we walked in the front door.
He didn't want to sit for us anymore.
We then had a babysitter named Debbie.
For the most part Debbie was pretty good...she was fun and mostly nice.
So I really have no valid explanation as to why we tortured her so.
I remember having to write her an apology letter.
It was after the day my mother came home to find her crying and saying that we were some of the most rotten children she'd ever encountered.
Little animals, was how she described us.
Wait a sec, those were my mother's words now that I think about it.
Well the point of this is that I can see why some animals eat their young.
And to be honest, I have no idea how my sister, brother and I didn't get gobbled up.
My mother made it look easy.
She made parenting a bunch of ungrateful, self-absorbed, "all about me", selfish, rotten kids look easy.
She made those "why did I ever have children" or "these kids are going to be the death of me" days seem so few and far between.
She let us live.
The woman is surely a Saint.
And so on those days when I'm thinking about building a big backyard BBQ pit (they would be much more palatable well done smeared with a bit of honey smoked BBQ sauce)...
I think about you mom and how you decided that your children, like fine wine could and would get better with age.
And really, (seriously) my kids are the best...but some days I just need a little help remembering that.
That and those four little magic words...
This too shall pass.