I'll Be Setting My DVR To Record This Daily

Last night the kids and I were hanging out in front of the tv. As usual, they were bickering over who was going to sit next to me. When you have three kids, there is always one that feels left out of climbing up my ass the snuggling.

R. was the last to join the group, so I tried to explain to her that this time she'd have to sit next to one of her brothers instead.

She went batshit.

I've explained her anger management issues in the past. As she is getting older, her episodes have decreased in frequency, but from time to time she will resort back to Linda Blair style head spinning violence inappropriate behavior. She just gets so frustrated and can't seem to find the words to express herself. Instead she'll resort to hitting, kicking, and throwing things.

After I picked her flailing body up, as she was trying to beat the crap out of her brothers, I placed her in timeout.

She proceeded to yell at me, with all of the attitude of a teenager, that she was NOT staying in timeout. I saw my future flash before my eyes. I am truly screwed in about ten years.

After a while, she finally calmed down and apologized. She then asked T., in her sweetest voice, if she could sit next to me. He, being the epitome of a middle child people pleaser, said yes.

All was quiet again and we went back to watching the tube. I flipped through a few channels and came across Nanny 911. There on the screen was a beautiful cherub of a girl, completely freaking out in pure R. fashion.

I looked at my daughter. She was wide-eyed with a total look of shock on her face. "Mamma, why is that girl doing that to her mommy?"

"What's the matter, don't you think she should?" I asked, as I tried not to chuckle.

"NO! That's bad!"

"Well, that's how you looked about ten minutes ago."

She sat and thought for a second. "But she is kicking and hitting!" She said, as though her own actions were a figment of my imagination.

"Yes, she is. And isn't that what you were doing?"

Again, she silently pondered my question. She then cuddled in tighter against me and watched as the girl responded to the Nanny's discipline.

When the show was over, R. proclaimed, "Now she's a good girl!" She was completely overjoyed that this story had a happy ending.

I then told my three kids to go upstairs and get ready for bed. Normally, in my house, when I say this, the Schmitty Kids hear, "Go upstairs and run amok and get as wild as you possibly can!"

But tonight, one by one, they brushed their teeth for more than two seconds, they peed in the toilet (my boys have extremely poor aim), and got right under the covers. There was no pushing and shoving. No charging through the rooms. No bouncing off the walls. No mom screaming at the top of her lungs to knock it off.

There was peace.

I dropped to my knees, clasped my hands together, and professed my eternal gratitude to the Nanny.