What are you people still doing here?

In our house (as I suspect in lots of homes) I am good cop and bad cop and, in fact, pretty much the entire law enforcement unit.  And while it used to irk me that charming husband always gets to strut around in his role as best buddy all 'round good guy, I thought I'd gotten over this and learned to live with the status quo.  But. . .then the kids hit their teenage years.

Now I am the first to admit that I have the most inconsistent parenting skills (having inherited my discipline techniques from my military dad whom it took me close to 16 (just in time for trouble) years to realize is the biggest most kind-hearted loud-mouthed softy that exists. I like to think (as I am sure my dad did) that by oscillating between being a total push-over to inexplicably ranting and losing my temper keeps the girls on their toes and makes them shake in their boots with respect, but, I suspect, they just secretly roll their eyes and silently think "here she goes again, blah blah blah" or have long since tuned me out and are plotting how to get the car.

Charming husband, on the other hand, has always been consistent in that he has rarely gotten involved in the day-to-day discipline (ironically previously a point of contention).  Thus it is very disconcerting for me (and I am now quite stubborn and ungenerous about the "help") that all of a sudden he has begun to randomly crack the whip. He is quick and swift with the consequences whereas I am oh so wishy-washy (secretly rationalizing that isn't it punishment enough that they are forced to listen to my endlessly themed woe-is-me harangue).  The problem too is that I over think everything and, thus, though I lose my temper easily, I am not quick to dole out consequences until I am sure of exactly what the punishment should be because I am all too aware of how said consequences must be well-thought out lest they make my own life more difficult.  And that's where the problem lies because charming husband's most recent favourite punishment is to ban offenders from using the car for weeks at a time.  This, of course, really only punishes me as (because charming husband works all hours of the day and night) I now have to abandon my cherished and newly found (having only recently begun to enjoy the freedom of having driving-aged children) TV/reading time to chauffeur kids to a myriad of activities.



I do have some empathy for charming husband who, between the ages of 1 to 18,  had absolutely no experience (or possibly even contact) with girls because he grew up in a home with four boys, attended an all-boys school, was (shudder, why did I fall for this guy again?) a "frat" boy, and endured being ruled by a beautiful, bright, educated highly frustrated Hitler-like mother (not-so-affectionately nicknamed Freud by her loving sons) who instilled a level of fear in her boys that I've yet to see rivaled.

So, for charming husband, living with 4 teenage girls (be careful what your fantasies are 'cause god'll get you!)—the twins now 16 and the older girls 18 and 19 (yeah yeah, it took a while to figure out what was causing it)—and a slightly crazed wife, all under one roof, must be a bit daunting.  (This is the same man whom, before we had kids and when we were one day discussing getting a dog versus having kids said, "You know, you have a dog for life."!)

Anyway, the point is, that despite not thinking I really wanted the role of disciplinarian, I am used to it and I guess I get pretty pouty about having that role infringed upon at this late date.  [This is along the same line as my very irrational every weekday morning "it's my house, what are you people still doing here?" thing.  After years of being an initially kind-of-reluctant, but ultimately happy, stay-at-home/work-from-home mom, I am completely put out if it is 9:10 am and someone is still home. Increasingly this is becoming more of a problem as the older girls are now in university and have fluctuating schedules and the younger two have spares (wtf, when I was in high school, albeit catholic private school (that's another story), one did not have spares unless one was invited to visit with Father Graham for a little chat).  Plus this "other people being in the house during the day" thing really cuts into my all important read the paper time.]

In the past, charming husband did have a few brief forays into disciplining that often went quite spectacularly wrong (kids, even at a young age, being quite astute about getting, and manipulating, the dynamic).

I remember one evening we were reading bedtime stories to the twins (who were maybe 3 or 4) and second child (5ish and a precocious reader) was doing her usual puttering around in her room and not going to sleep.  (I am pretty tolerant of this as I am a big believer in the "you can make your child go to bed, but you can't make them go to sleep" school.  Plus, I used to stay up half the night reading with a flashlight under my covers and second child is very quiet on her own in her room (as was I when I was young, so I empathize); no harm no foul.)  Charming husband, having only started to read at the age of like 40 or so (because (a) he still clings to that all encompassing mid-life Canadian male dream that he might one day make the NHL, so there isn't much time for reading and because (b) what was wrong with picture books? and, btw, they still fit quite nicely under the mattress, thank you very much), doesn't quite get this.

So this particular evening, 2nd child abandons her "how to build a bomb" book, uncharacteristically gets out of bed and comes into the twins' room to ask for something.  Charming husband, not bothering to hear her out, starts into a rare disciplinary rant advising her that she had better march right back to her room young lady, and, if she's not tired, start cleaning up said very messy room.  Somewhat incoherently, needy kids in Africa are added into the equation and she should make a pile of what she wants to keep and what she's going to throw out, etc. etc. etc.

We go back to reading to the twins and listen to lots of stomping around and likely doze off for a bit (having just survived five sleep deprived baby years). Eventually, I crawl out of twin2's bed leaving charming husband to nap and meander down the hall to 2nd child's room only to find (I kid you not) that the entire room has been stripped bare including the curtains and everything from the walls.  There is a huge pile in the middle of the room (must be close to ceiling height) of every last item in the room. Even the drawers have been pulled out of the dresser and are dumped upside down and are teetering on the pile.

2nd child (who is very diminutive and, at that time, worryingly still only weighing about 25 lbs), plants her little hand on her little hip, looks me straight in the eye and says "There, that's the pile of what I want to keep." 

Collapsing into peals of laughter, I stumble back to the twins' room and summon charming husband to deal with his consequences.