Chatter up someone else please. Anyone else.

No one has listened today.

They've been too busy speaking.

I've repeated myself so many times I might as well have graduated from journalism school; stop that, knock off the rough play, listen please, I don't want to have to repeat myself....again.

It's not nearly as bad when they take turns being the Total Ass of the day; when all three decide to do it jointly?

Well.

That's an ass of a different color, now, isn't it?

Let me assure you, it is. It means, one of you, that when you narrate the entire damn day, even after I've asked you, then told you, then yelled at you to not do that, when you do it again? Thank your lucky stars we don't live fifty years or so ago - I would have landed you into the middle of next week. All three of you, stop horsing around at Grandma's, listen to your sister when she asks you in a very whiney voice that goes up me sideways to stop being ugly with the doll house furniture because if I need to be involved?

You. Won't. Like. It.

Do not, under any circumstances, get into a beyond stupid argument while leaning over the half wall in the loft over whether or not someone said something on the bus or not. Especially when I am a, trying to get Gillian down, and b, am in the same room as you.

Yep, I realize, my patience has snappeth; I'm allowed to have a day when everyone around me annoys the living daylights out of me to the point when I wonder why on Earth I wanted this life. (yeah, I really do love my life, for the most part. you know, my X notwithstanding. oh, right, and the two ho bags, Fuck Me Pirate Barbie and Emmy who slept with my other X) All three of them have been so irritating, my palms itch to plant one on them. I don't really care where: swing a wide left hook and nail and ankle? Fine with me. Whiff past the hair with a backhand? Good with that too. Throw them out in the cold to watch them shiver out their energy until they shut up? OMG. That might be the best idea I've had in a long time.

All the kids are currently eating "treat", something that came with J, and his kids, so they alternate which night of the week is treat night, and which isn't.

Were it treat night for me?

They would shut the fuck up. All of them. The dog. The baby. The triplets. The phone. The moaning fridge. Even J's voice.

Just. Shut. Up.

Up to brush teeth? Talking wafts down, loudly, from their bathroom. I reminded them (sort of) gently, to brush, not talk. Whispering began. Jonathan yelled up in his I Mean It Voice to brush; they got a bit quieter. I threatened to come brush their freaking teeth myself, which would be when the water turned on. Brushing for a nanosecond commenced. I'd be upset with the length of time spent not brushing, were my nerves not soothed by the fact they had shut up at all.

Sure, it could be PMS. It could be, I'm tired, overwhelmed, under-xmas-shopped, stocking stuffer short, with frayed nerves too boot. Or, it could also be the three of them have managed to reach critical mass in the time it took me to climb out of bed (at 7:30am...on a SUNDAY), walk into the kitchen, and pour a cup of coffee.

I was patient.....then.

I am not patient....now.

I'd go kiss and hug, say goodnight....only no one is listening.

They are too busy talking.