Here's The Story...

Lately, the "boys will be boys" line is not sustaining me. If I have to separate another foot from a midsection, a fist from a face, an elbow from a back, a head from a gut (you get the picture) one more time I'm going to do them both in. But no, that might land me in jail.

Raising little boys has made me realize that when they were handing out patience, I must have been in line to get another supply of chocolate chip cookies. So I have none. Absolutely none. So you see, I'm somewhat lacking in resources in the little boy department. But I decided that I could get on top of this deficiency. I could. I just need a new approach. Yeah, that's all. Just a new approach. Like being somebody completely not me.

So today, I decided to try it out. To be someone with total control. With a zen approach to mothering. Someone who confronts temper-tantrums with aplomb (what the hell is aplomb, anyway?) An ability to cook and not mess up her clothes. Who, who, who I wondered? Who? I know! How about Florence Henderson?

I pictured her in her most famous incarnation, Mrs. Mike Brady: yes, those bright, perky dry-clean-only minidresses, that blonde coif, those twinkling eyes. And Mike, how awesome is he? And they live in that totally rad architect's house. Cool. And they have that awesome station wagon just beginning to hint at aerodynamism. Cool. And that carport with the fake-grass backyard. All cool. I could be her. Sure.

So here's how it went:

Me: (Entering the boys' room, singing like Snow White in the forest) Good morning, my little lambs!

Them: .... radio silence ...

Me: What would my little darlings like for breakfast?

Them: .... more radio silence, but slight movements of the eyelids ...

Me: (Hands to heart, like Florence might do in yoga) How about some nice waffles with butter and syrup!?

Them: ... grunting ...

Me: OK, coming up!

I trot off to the kitchen, already showered and dressed (Flo would never make breakfast in pajamas). I put some frozen waffles in the toaster and hum "Here Comes The Sun". I take out the condiments and set the table. I'm still humming. I'm realizing I kind of like this song. What the hell.

The waffles pop.

Me: Oh, boys! Let's eat so we can go to school and have a great day!

Them: (Sounds of a struggle come from their room) Noooo!! Stooooooppppp!! Stoppp it! I had that! That's miiiiinnneee! I'm going to tell MOM on YOU!!

Julian approaches me in the kitchen. I'm still humming. He's sobbing hysterically.

Julian: Maama der far wahhs miiirne aaaan Ian took it!! Wahhhhhhh!

I kneel down, like Flo would. You have to talk to kids at their level, you know.

Me: Julian, slow down. Don't worry. Tell Mama what's wrong. (I'm petting him on the arms and I bring him to hug me. His tears are jettisoning off his cheeks and splashing on my shoulder.)

Julian: Der far wahhs miiirne aaaan Ian took it!! Wahhhhhhh!

Me: Der far?

Julian: NOOO, der faaaarrrr!!!!

Me: (In my Flo voice) Oh, OK, der far?

Now Julian is jumping up and down with his fists clenched. Ian arrives.

Me: (Still in Flo mode) Ian, dear, can you explain to Mama what Julian wants so badly?

Ian: He wants the red race car, Mom.

Me: Julian, when we want things we have to ask for them nicely right?

Julian: Ian, can I please have the red race car?

Ian: No.

Ian retreats back to their room with the car under his arm like a football. Julian goes ballistic, and I mean full blast ballistic. I turn back to the waffles and begin spreading butter on them, followed by a neat swirl of syrup. I start humming "I Am Sixteen, Going On Seventeen" from The Sound of Music.

The boys eat through a storm of fighting and crying and Mama humming. Then we leave.

As we motor away in our very aerodynamic Honda Accord, I realize that I could only keep up this Florence Henderson thing if I could also be allowed to trip on some LSD on a regular basis. And anyone who knows me will tell you I'm too much of a goody-goody to trip on anything except a crack in the sidewalk. So Flo may have to go back in the closet.

And P.S. - I looked up aplomb. Yes, that's exactly what I need. More aplomb.