The kids are in a rough patch. At least that's what I hope it is. I certainly don't want to be hearing this for the next ten years:

David hit me!
Rose won't give me the jump rope!
David hit me with the jump rope!
It's not fair.
I don't want to.
I don't have to.
wha, wha, wha!

The last was me when I have run out of deep breaths.

There is an unfortunate irony in the anticipation of big exciting events. It can make you miserable. We've seen this pattern before. Rose had a major temper tantrum yesterday, and on her way back to sanity she said, "I wish it were my birthday now." Also unfortunately, the return to normality can lead to misery. Rose likes her birthday immensely. She likes going on trips. She likes her grandparents coming to visit. But, in fact, she does better with a regular not so exciting routine. I'm hoping that lower level excitement like helping set up the classroom for school will keep life fun but not too much fun.

I don't know what David's problem is. I could say he's feeding off her energy, but she'll be in a dandy mood, and he'll just start whacking her. Yup, he's a hitter. He's doing it for attention and to break up a situation he doesn't like, his sister reading and ignoring him for instance, but it's hard to support his real needs when he's just done something that so obviously has to be stopped. And he's whining a lot. I won't say constantly because I can close my eyes right now and picture so many grins from today—when I told him to foof Daddy this morning, when he put his hand on the window at jazzercise and blew me kisses, when he was ice skating, when he got an entire plate of mini marshmallows. . . Let's just say the whining quotient has been over my tolerance level.

I have the feeling, what with school starting, that we are in for a good six weeks of hard work. Ugh.