Post It Syndrome

My girls need concrete answers. After a few days of saying “maybe” and “another time” or “later” (sometimes because I wanted to say “Back the Eff off”) I realized that the vagueness was too hard for them.

If Carrot and I read a story after school, I need to tell Zucchini right now when she and I can spend ten minutes together. If Zucchini goes with her mentor, Carrot and I need to plan our activity before Zucchini leaves. Or It. IS. JUST. NOT. FAA–IIIRRR.

In the kitchen with Carrot, she sees a stack of the tiny post-its. “Can I have one to color on?” “Sure, you can have a few,” I say. From the living room, Zucchini shouts, “What? What can she have? What are you giving her?” “A post-it.  Really, Zucchini, a post-it.”


About EratMama

30 something midwestern gal, married to another 30 something midwestern gal, conquering depression, rockin' foster parent.
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2 Responses to Post It Syndrome

  1. alison says:

    sounds like our house. LOL.

  2. Beck says:

    Their hearing kicks in when it’s convenient. Our middle guy came in from the other room once to ask what Dad was eating, “what’s that rustling sound?”. That was the pages of the newspaper. No chips, this time.

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