Insurrection

My smarty pants friend, Tim Kelly, sent me the following quote by one of my all-time favorites, Mark Twain: Sufficient unto the day is one baby. As long as you are in your right mind don't you ever pray for twins. Twins amount to a permanent riot; and there ain't any real difference between triplets and an insurrection.

Think about that word, “insurrection” for a moment.  What comes to mind?  Revolt?  Rebellion?  Mutiny? Uprising?  Does that sound like a typical day in your household?  Because it certainly is in mine.  My Trifecta has discovered the power of three.  Somehow, they have a deep understanding that if they join forces against me, I have little to no control over them.
 
At this moment I am sitting in The Trifecta’s room during nap time because instead of sleeping soundly for two hours, they now revolt against me with screaming, yelling, jumping from bed to bed, and stealing lovies from one another.  Flashlights bang against their headboards putting Occupy Wall Street drum circles to shame. They know if they decide NOT to nap, there will be NO nap. “I think maybe they are ready to give up nap times, Amy,” a precious friend offered.  To this dear and loving soul I replied, “You are out of your beautiful mind.” I need nap time...really, really, need nap time.

Yesterday, Stevie Nick’s all-time great “Landslide” came on the radio.  “Oh girls!” I exclaimed, “I love this song.  Let’s listen to it before we pop in our number song CD.”  The Trifecta and I hand danced and swayed our heads as I sang along.  It was beautiful.  When the song ended they requested we listen again.  “Sorry sweet girls.  That was the radio.  You can’t replay the radio,” I replied.  A trio of screams, shrieks, and pure fury erupted from behind me.  Someone tried to hit the back of my head with a stuffed animal.  A Sippy cup flew passed me and smashed into the dashboard. At that moment a police car rolled up next to us as we stopped at the red light. Fearing for our safety and my sanity, I reached down into the craziest compartment of my brain.  “GIRLS,” I shouted, “THAT POLICE OFFICER IS HERE TO TAKE YOU TO JAIL!”  Silence.  I had their attention.  “Police officers take people to jail who make bad choices and put others in danger.   Having a tantrum in the car is a bad choice. Do you want him to take you to jail?” 

Several weeks ago, I accidentally invented, “Mean Becky.”  She’s a babysitter in Murfreesboro who I call when all three of the girls won’t get dressed when we are running late and need to leave the house.  “Ok, well, if you won’t get dressed to go to tumble class with me, then I am just going to have to call Mean Becky to stay with you while I’m gone.”  The Trifecta snaps out of the storm of insanity and we’re ready to go in less than five minutes. “Mean Becky” is the grouchiest babysitter in town.  She doesn’t let you play with blocks.  She doesn’t read stories.  She doesn’t exist.

Sometimes, when The Trifecta ignores my requests to exit our vehicle and enter the house, and instead decide they would rather jump around the inside of the car, climb over the seats into the back hatch, and honk the car horn when we are inside the garage, well, sometimes I see gypsies.  “Oh no,” I scream, “I just saw a gypsy!  If we don’t get inside right away she will take us to the gypsy barn and lock us up!” Thirty tiny toes leap out of the car and into the house in world record time.

Foolish? Irrational?  Yes.  Insurrection leads to desperation.

Please believe me when I say that The Trifecta receives actual consequences followed by reasonable discipline 98% (OK, let’s say 95%) of the time.  But there are times when the three of them gang up on me people, and crazy antics are all I have.

To my critics I say, you are right and I am wrong.  You are rational and I have not shaved my legs in three weeks.