Part Two: How do I do it? You asked. And now I really have answered.

And so---

I have put the kids in lock down.It is late July and the first signs of Summeritis have set in.

While out camping, I realized the symptoms-- the whining, the hysterical crying, constant irritability, insomnia and a fear of being touched by siblings. Oh but it is much more serious than I first thought, not only do they not understand a word I say to them but that they don't follow hand signals either-- perhaps I should get them tested for something else.

I also discovered the reasons I have been forsaking my cozy bed (that I never get to sleep in) for the hard cold mountain ground and a sleeping bag (I don't get to sleep in either).

It is because:
A.) the whininess of end of summer boredom compacted with the incessant fighting has made me crazy

B) the incessant boredom causes them to destroy my house and make it uninhabitable.

C) I'd rather be in association with wild beasts who could cart my children off in the night than to have to look at their messy rooms and to have to clean my house.

When I am away, I know my house is clean-- no one is throwing their wet bathing suit on the wood floors or coloring on the retaining wall outside.

And so, realizing that neither my house nor their rooms would get any better, I decided to put them on lock down (besides the outside of the house was not exactly clean either). This little problem needed containment.

I needed to quarantine the kids lest they infect others.They have offically become my prisoners of war.

First rule: prisonization. To do this, I decided to take God's advice and teach my children about the Golden Rule (do unto mother before she does unto you). Scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. No, honor your mother (BINGO).

Here is how it goes: if they want to eat, they must set the table and clear it (otherwise -- the kitchen is closed). If they want to go outside, the inside must be clean first. If they want to come inside, the otside must first be cleaned (I'll change that because then they'd never come inside). If they want to come inside and keep their bike, the outside must be clean and the bike off my pre-sod lawn. If they want me to take them somewhere or do something with them, they must treat me with respect.

Second rule: Time off for good behavior/ rewards. The rewards are great for those who assimilate quickly, but unlike prison, they don't get $1 an hour for laundry duty and making license plates. No, I took away allowances. Yes, the sweet sound of pennies in a jar didn’t work.

In the past, allowance was optional and grandma -- the goddess of item procurement-- was just a phone call away.

But not any more. The phone lines have been cut. If they want to eat and to earn their state mandated hour of outdoor recreation per day, then they must follow the rules.

Control is now completely in the hands of the Maternal Dictator--- HAHAHAHAHA!

Oh, but don’t worry. The little darlings are no suffering too much, and they are enjoying the benefits of assimilation.

The other day, they helped me clean the house by picking up their sh--stuff and by following the guidelines for getting food. We went to Baskin Robins and I didn't make them get the kid scoop-- no they got milkshakes.Then Sunday, as a surprise reward for cleaning their rooms, we were going to go to family swim night, but to be honest, they forgot the respect your mother part as we got into the car (so I made them wait until yesterday afternoon).

Have I had it?

Oh yes. I cannot manage this house without their help. I'm outnumbered.

I can't.

I won't.

And so that is how I am.

Any questions?