Not my finest hour

Summer brings out the best and the worst in me.

There is Here-Is-Your-Ice-Cream-Cone-Let's-Take-A-Walk Mom and If-You-Don't-Give-Me-Some-Room-I-Will-Start-Yelling Mom.

I hate yelling Mom. I detest her. She is vile.

But she always shows up when Nice Mom just can't get the job done.

She elbows Nice Mom out of the way in a very buxom, Brittish Nanny type of way and says, "You can't get it done like that, Dear."

So today I locked my children out of the house.

In my defense they had thirty four warnings.

When they all went unheeded, I pointed to the back door, said "My house is for people who love each other," marched them outside and locked the door.

Stunned silence.

A few knocks to test my resolve.

A few tears.

Then complaints.

It's hot.

I don't have shoes.

I nicely deposited shoes and cold water bottles on the step.

More stunned silence.

Then they ran around the house to the Artist's office and begged entry.

Denied.

The Artist came upstairs chuckling at their fate.

I did eventually allow re-entry.

I also made it very clear that the first person to show disrespect to another family member better feel like getting a suntan.

Or having a camp out.

I am not kidding.

I am sure I saw this somewhere in Love and Logic. (NOT!)

Or maybe it was the Dog Whisperer.

Either way, I'm just trying for a little obedience.

If they sit and stay in the bargain, I'm good.

Not at all nice.

But good.