Please! Stop Sharing.

Once you have 2 mobile kids, discussions on sharing toys are as common as the phrase, “We don’t hit (kick, bite, lick, pinch, scrape, scratch, torture) each other.”  They’ve actually started to understand the sharing concept.  Brutus loves nothing more than to shove his binkie in someone else’s mouth, and Boo thinks she’s hilarious when she uses his bottle to act like a baby.  Actually, in the bathtub they’ve started passing toys to each other—from one mouth to another.  It’s close enough to French kissing to make my husband uncomfortable.  They begrudgingly share toys, food, blankets, and stuffed animals with only sporadic down-and-out fights.


And I’ve had it!  There will be NO MORE SHARING in this house.  The new rule is that your toys are your own and whoever gets to it first, gets it. There will be screaming! There will be tantrums! There will be hurt feelings!

But, at least there won’t be a constant cold being passed around!  If one of my kids gets sick, it’s basically impossible to keep the other from catching it.  Toys, food, and fingers go from one mouth to the next and back again.  It’s a cycle of sharing and sickness.  I can disinfect all I want and I still can’t keep away the colds when they insist on passing things back and forth in a germtastic collision of sticky fingers.  So, the sharing has to stop!

It’s over-rated anyway, right?


Expect the Worst

My husband is happier than me.  And no, it’s not because he’s married to such an amazing wife.  It’s because of one simple thing—he always expects the worst.

I on the other hand, always get my hopes up.  I can’t tell you the number of times I would be rocking my daughter or son to sleep and be thinking, “This is the night the baby will sleep all night and I will wake in a panic in the morning, run into the nursery and find a peacefully sleeping baby.”  Which never happens. Or the number of times I think to myself, “Today my son will sit and play on the floor for 30 minutes and let me get something done.”  And he never does.

I’m setting myself up for failure.

My husband on the other hand probably doesn’t expect my daughter to actually put herself to sleep until she’s 32, and he figures that my son will need to be carried constantly until he’s 14.  And when the unexpected happens, he’s elated.

I’ve got to work on my pessimism.  I think it will make me happier.


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