Nine

What can I say about nine? Nothing...I have nothing good or nice to say. 

Nine is NOT flippin' fine.  Nine is NOT divine!  Nine is NOT a good time!

Nine...Nine...Nine. Poop on you Nine!

This little boy...yes he's still little (even if he tells ya he's not) has been a serious thorn in my side!!  I know this must be some horrendous boot camp for what's to come, but if I'm honest with you I'd like to decline...decline 9 I tell you!  We are only 8 months from 10 (but whose counting? I AM!!).  What is it with odd numbers and boys?  Or maybe it's odd numbers and just my family. 

I tell you what...Dru is almost 5 and he's lucky to alive.  Lee is almost 8 and I hope that will be G-Rrrrr-eeee-Aaaa-Ttt! (imagine Tony the Tiger here) but honestly 7 is NOT heaven!  Eli will soon be 3 and you may or may not agree, but I'd take a roomful of 2yr olds over one 3 year old!  Then there's Ian and you just would not be believing how that boy is acting! (OK well you might if you have had your own 9 year old child). 

Sigh...nine can't get over fast enough.  The attitude, selfishness, back talk, know-it-all mouth, hormones (the instant water works and I hate you's cause you asked him to pick his room up or some chore) need to S-T-O-P!!

 

Today he was told to go outside and play...this morning at 10:30 is when WW3 commenced.  Lines were drawn and yelling ensued by Ian cause he was mad (and yelling by me to just be heard...and I will be heard) at being told to go outside.  Several times I said Ian...I hear what you are saying, I understand it.  But you listen to me...I'm the mom and you will be going outside to play, you will not be inside all day today, it's not going to happen. Ian had grand illusions that he was going to play inside with his Lego's and watch TV all day...uh don't think so! 

Battle ensued...there were casualties (little brothers...lots of tears...gnashing of teeth and the like).  Finally he had been told several times to stop and keep his whole body (gotta be specific...you'd be surprised...or not ) away from his brothers.  He didn't...he shoved his fingers in his ears while I was warning him.  So I walked away and said you've been warned...it's all on you...I'll have you know at that point is when he chose to listen...so all he heard was you've been warned and I wouldn't tell him.  They know everything at 9 you know!  Wouldn't you know it...10 minutes into my work out it happened.

He did something to someone (see my memory is great!) and I said you were warned...get inside you have chores/punishment to do.  And that of course turned into a battle.  He threw a fit, threw some stuff like a 3 year old (see wouldn't you agree? 3 is not a breeze?).  So he had to sit and watch me workout (ghastly punishment I know!) until he calmed down enough to get his chore done.  Twenty minutes later, he had screamed and yelled himself out (Thank you Lord for Ipods!!) and he finally started his chores.  His punishment/chore was to sweep my floor and then mop it with a wash cloth on his hands and knees.  Don't worry though, I couldn't eat off the floor after he mopped because I wasn't watching him the whole time while doing my work out (he SWEARS he did a fine job and he could eat off the floor) so he did a half...you know what job(I should have called his bluff though and made him eat off the floor).  However, I do think my point was made.

Therefore, it is safe to conclude...this momma won the war (I HOPE!) and Ian lost some ground on his drawn out battle lines...retreat! Pick your battles Ian!

I tell you what...10 had better be a helluva a lot better!!

Otherwise I will be hugging the stuffing right out of him!!!!