July 1. It started on July 1. Canada Day. We made it to Canada Day with minimal bickering and not a single, not ONE, blow up fight. I should be celebrating. That is 14 consecutive days with relative peace since school let out. That’s a record. And yet, the impulse to revel in celebratory feelings of grandeur at such an accomplishment eludes me. Instead, I sit, grinding teeth, enveloped in the jarring, caustic banter of my two not gracious, not selfless, not forgiving children.

Oh. Canada.

It all started, as it usually does, while they were thoroughly enjoying the mind numbing gem that is Minecraft. I love this game, in the same way I love all depressing music that makes me want to poke my eyes out. They love it too, because despite the inevitable opposition inducing trance it imparts, they go back to it time and time again. It’s precious.

I’d bet two healthy children that, at present, that Minecraft creator is sitting in a comfy chair, on a warm beach, overlooking blue water, with a cold drink and a nanny for his children. Who’s the genius!?

L: Just listen! Can’t we just…

S: {silence}

L: Seriously! Just listen to my idea!

S: Nooo, I don’t want to. You just hog the whole thing…

L: I’m making it anyway.

S: I heard what you said.

L: “I didn’t say “DAMN” I said “dam,” ya know, the thing that blocks water!??

S: Whatever.

L: It’s true! I’m building a dam!

S: {silence}

L: OWW! What the heck is wrong with you!? She punched me in the face! She punched me in the FAAACE!

S: Oh my word! I did NOT punch you in the face, not even close!

L: You SO did!

S: I SO did not.

L: Can I just tell you something!?

S: {silence}

L: Listen! You’re not even listening!

S: I did not punch you in the face.

L: Listen to me!!!

S: You’re lying!

L: You’re lying!

S: You’re lying!

L: You’re lying!

Infinity.

This exchange continued at a pace that rivals chipmunks stuffing their cheeks for an apocalyptic winter and reached decibels far surpassing acceptable levels of communal noise prior to 9 a.m. Couple that with a caffeine-free mother and we had all the ingredients for the recipe that is “Mom Has Lost Her Crap!” It’s delicious.

So, I reached for my parenting manual and hastily turned to Chapter 13 as I couldn’t readily recall the method by which I could intervene heroically and save the day. But, apparently C had used it last weekend when researching how to get a 9 year old autistic child out the door for a haircut aaand forgot to put it back in its rightful place. Sooo, I was forced to resort to my situational bent of “Ohh now I’m lit!,” and flew down the stairs like a manic Mary Poppins to deliver the decibel cracking admonishment that is OKA “Laying Down the Law.” I laid it straight down. For real.

As luck would have it, my teeth were already in grinding position, so my ability to speak through clenched jaw was effortless. I’ve been a little dehydrated of late, so the normally accompanying flying spit was lacking, but I don’t think it detracted from the intensity of my delivery. Anyhoo, my orders were clear, precise and of sound mind. Per usual.

As if trying to hold dental trays tight in my jaw, I began, “It. Ish. Time. Tshoo. Shhhut. Uppp! Boff. Of. Yhoo. Shhhut. UP! QUIET! Did. You. Toush. Hish. Fash? Don’t. Toush. Hish. Fash!”

They stared, mouths agape. L’s eyes squinting, clearly straining to see if my eye twitch had begun.

L, typically unable to fully assess the emotional state of others and the inherent risk he may be adopting by opening his mouth, just haaaad to know, “What are you eating?”

And, only in my mind, I said, “Not just yet son, but I’ma ‘bout to devour two snotty kids for breakfast.” Only I wouldn’t cuz that’s creepy and smacks of mental instability.

As if God himself had wrapped gently His hand around my mouth, I stood silent. I gathered a breath. I switched tactics and stood on the cusp of delivering what I like to call Commencement Gold. Ya know, one of my many wise maternal impartations that the kids will no doubt remember forever and relay to their peers at Commencement… as Valedictorians of their graduating class… at the Alternative High School.

“You are BOTH being selfish, not selfless. You are BOTH being demanding not gracious. You are BOTH being obstinate not forgiving. You are BOTH responsible. You BOTH could be doing this differently. I woke up in a good mood, but nothing makes me crankier than two bickering kids. Find something constructive to do!”

Meh. Not my best CG, I doubt it’ll make the cut. But there’s still plenty of time to add to the coffer of possibilities.

And so, careful to pay respectable homage to the native banana slug, they moved toward their rooms, wherein they would immerse themselves in a classic novel Nintendo DS.

As I leaned on the counter, pulling the Nespresso close, I began my customary mental dance of self-belittling, over-analyzing and out of proportion blowing that ultimately leads to (again) mourning the loss of the maternal perfection I was once certain I’d attain.

BUT, within two sips of my Intenso Arpeggio, reason befell me and I was all like, “Not today Mounties!”

So, as I type, my lovely children are at the kitchen table, together, trays of watercolors before them, crafting masterpieces to hang on the fridge. Because, if perfection is not attainable, fridge art that screams “Look at us, we’re so happy, we’re so normal AND our mom isn’t failing” is the next best thing.

That and Canada. There’s always Canada.