Pea soup?

Being of scientific mind, there are some things I've been very curious about. Mostly things that are illogical, such as human behavior. In specific, the behavior of children. As a parent, I'm curious about this because I'd love to find a way to make my children behave. Just a little. I know, it's an impossible task. But one can hope-- as illogical as that is. I have a confession. If you're a parent, you'll I'm sure understand and quite agree: Children are evil.

Sure, they're cute and cuddly and you love them very much. That doesn't change things. They're evil. They're contrary. They're prone towards doing very stupid things that they know are wrong and stupid, but they do them anyway. Are they possessed? When you ask them why, they will tell you "I dunno.." And that's if you're lucky. The child that does have a reason, well, you'll want to take a Valium or two before hearing it. There is no real reasoning behind it.

An example: My two darling children, playing downstairs, while I'm coloring my hair upstairs (with the assistance of my mother). I hear a thumping sound. I shout down to them, "What's that noise?" The thumping would stop for a big, then start up. After a while, my daughter scurries up the stairs, breathlessly eager to rat out her older brother. "Mom! (The Boy)'s knocking holes into the ceiling!" How do you react to this news? Does this happen to other people? So I scream for the boy to present himself, front and center. He shows up, trying his best to look as sweet and innocent as he can, but his nervous blinking gives him away. I try to stay calm. I ask why. Why in god's name would anyone poke holes in the ceiling? Did this seem like a good idea? Did it seem the the right thing to do? Why? Whyyyyyyyyyyy?! And he replies with a shrug, "I dunno.. But (The Girl) did it too."

Mind you, I'm still having color slapped onto my roots. Two fuming women-- one sitting, one standing-- trying not to go completely bat shit crazy on two little children. I can feel The Look coming on my face. I know it is when I look at my slightly cringing children. They're sneaking pleading glances towards grandma, hoping for reprieve and finding none. Oh, yeah, grandma's pissed. They're in trouble now. I turn to the girl. I ask a simple "Why?" and get, "But (The Boy) did it more than I did!" What that has to do with my question, I do not know. I tell her this. She only repeats, "He did it more than I did!" That is when I lost my shit. Yes, I'm not proud of myself. I screamed, I ranted, I raved, I foamed at the mouth. When I slowed down, my mom filled in. We were a tag-team of motherly rage.

So our basement now has a hole-y ceiling, they are without tv and/or games for a very long time, and I need a Valium.