What is it about the phone and kids?!



We decided to bring them with us from Germany.  They ARE generally good kids, albeit a bit goofy!

 Aunt Merle called on Saturday night to wish me a Happy Birthday.  She is Damon's Nana's cousin and our closest relative here, both in terms of blood lineage and in terms of living close to Rock Hampton, about an hour and a half north of here.

I really like to give her my undivided attention.

It was 6:45 PM and the kids were still up.  Damon was at work. 

Within five minutes of being on the phone Matthew was soaked from head to foot in apple juice.   As I tried to cover up his shrieks of outrage and continue the conversation with Merle, I somehow made out from frantic whispered communication from Andrew than Aidan had intentionally thrown his entire cup of apple juice into Matthew's face.

I tried to drag Aidan up the stairs to his room for a time-out, but he knew I wasn't going to be able to do it without getting off the phone with Merle.

"WHY WOULD HE DO THAT?!"  I mouthed instead.

There followed some other urgent communication that I pretended to listen to but ignored as I continued to speak to Merle.

Matthew gave up crying and went upstairs to change.

I figured I could deal with the situation later.

Until Andrew, red in the face, started frantically whispering at me again.  Something about Ryan and hitting and...  Ryan joined in with serious accusations of swearing and use of the middle finger.

My kids?  MY KIDS?!  (Really, they generally don't do this.)

ALL I WANTED TO DO WAS GIVE MERLE A FEW MINUTES OF MY TIME!  WAS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?!

I coralled Andrew, crying with the injustice of it all, in the kitchen.  Still speaking to Merle, who was telling me about her daughter and their lovely three children she was hoping we could meet over the Easter holidays.  (And I'm thinking, I don't know, I think my kids have been infected with the crazy flu and might be contagious.) 

To be fair, Ryan WAS mopping up the spilled - or thrown - apple juice off the sofa.  And floor.  And sideboards.  They ARE generally good kids.

I forget why I finally gave up.  I think maybe Aidan and Matthew started beating eachother.  In any case,  I admitted to Merle that WWIII had been going on the whole time I was speaking to her and that it was time for intervention.

Not one child argued when I sent them up to bed.  At 7PM on a Saturday.

I'm still not sure WHAT the heck happened in those few minutes.  How four quiet, well-behaved and contented children turned into seething angry monsters the moment I got on the phone. 

They were best friends again by the time I went upstairs to check on them.

Making me grateful that the crazy bug is a short-lived bug after all.