Breaking news.

I have only recently discovered that the tiny humans living in my house are, in fact...

TINY. HUMANS.

In the back of my head, I secretly thought there was still a slight chance that they were just child actors sent to test us like the longest episode of What Would You Do? ever and, sooner or later the host would come out, expose the cameras, and ask me to sign a waiver allowing me to appear on primetime television.

SURELY this phase of bickering/tattling (ohmygaaaah the tattling,) etc... it just means I made it to the next level of the game, right? Although, I dare not test this theory with threats of quicksand or superglue because YOU KNOW some day, some how my kids will be found in quicksand with their mouths glued shut and on the news my neighbor will be all, "They seemed like a normal family, but I read on the internet once that the mom wanted this to happen to them. I bet she finally snapped. You just never really know people." even if I had nothing to do with it and they will find the worst picture of me ever and stick it right up there in the corner of the tv. And ya'll, I don't want to be on the news.

So yesterday is going okay, and we are the picture of homeschool perfection with our sidewalk chalk spelling words and our UNO math; and it's time to take AG to therapy. I had to wake her, which would make anyone grumpy, but she was crying a real cry the whole way there.
Long story short: we left therapy to try to get her to a doctor. She had an ear infection.

I didn't have time to get her to the pediatrician and back so I tried the Minute Clinic. The doctor watched me take the ten minutes to enter all her info, with her screaming, Cale trying on 17 pair of sunglasses and smelling different flavors of antacids and Brynn in full splits right there next to the Pepto. Then the doctor walks out and says she's going to lunch and will be back in 45 minutes. LUNCH.
For FORTY-FIVE MINUTES.  After she just watched this whole spinning circus of crazy.

I went a little 'Dena' on her ass.
Sorry, Mom.
I totally did. My kid was SCREAMING, in obvious pain. That doctor had stood there without saying a word and then just... left. I didn't handle it well. Neither did she. I'm not into publicly bashing people and places, but let's just say we probably won't be going to any Minute Clinics that rhyme with Schmoger anytime soon.

I drive down the street to the next clinic I see. Ten more minutes of signing in. Baby screaming. Child actors touching e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g in the store.
Mom! Look how many packs of gum are in here!
Mom! They have red Gatorade!
Mom! Watch me slide on this floor!

We go in the teeny tiny room with the very quiet doctor who is NOT on lunch at 2:45 in the afternoon. Praise Jesus. I'm answering the questions, they're asking even more.
Mom, can I have a snack?
Mom, can I have a drink?
Mom, can I see your phone?

Anna Gray, still crying, ripping up every bit of the paper on the exam table- loudest sound EVER.

Then
He's touching me!
She's touching me!
Stooop!
I'm bored!

And I feel this quiet doctor, who's not on lunch, looking at me with the eyes in the back of her head and I'm thinking Man, these child actors are good. She's the producer, I bet. She's about to bust me. I better step it up.

So I am over-the-top with my test answers... like, creepy-calm. I think I actually said the words, "Sweetie, you just keep all your fun inside a *little* while longer and then we will go outside and let all of our fun burst right out like sunshine!" PATIENCE OF MICHELLE DUGGAR UP IN HERE.

But then we had to wait for the prescription. And Brynn had to pee, twice. And there were magazines to fight over. And easy access to bouncy balls. And now fighting over the dumb subscription cards falling out of the magazines. Michelle Duggar has left the building, but I'm hanging in there.

After dinner we went on a walk. With a bajillion things to do and homework and dirty dishes and no time for walks, we went on a walk. Because it was beautiful outside. And because my new meds make me "irritable" and Michelle Duggar was getting much closer to Mommy Dearest. And we're walking and we get only a few houses down and see happy, bouncing children on their trampoline. Except instead of happy and bouncing, girl-kid is screaming at the other about getting leaves on her side and boy-kid is trying to karate chop her in the ankle. Smaller kid is standing nearby throwing their shoes over the fence and Mom is standing on the porch with a blank stare and crying baby. I bet she thinks they're child actors too.

And that's when it hits me... the tiny are humans are, in fact... tiny humans.
Like, little PEOPLE.
And I know we have to do the teaching and life lessons and the growing up of the tiny humans in our house, but I'm thinking about how I talk to regular humans when they are driving me B.S.C. compared to how I talk to these little humans whom I actually love and adore?

Our children are just... people. Little people. They have their own ideas and their own personalities and you know, in "real life" you get along with some people better than others. You have more in common with some, some make you laugh, some make you think, some make you appreciate the small things in life. And some drive you B.S.C. And some do all those. At the same time.

But with regular humans, I bite my tongue (laaaaahhhdy do I bite my tongue) and I'm polite and respectful. When someone says something cruel or does something upsetting, I generally walk away and never ever threaten quicksand or superglue. So these little tiny humans entrusted to me need to be treated with the same respect. Because they make me laugh and they make me think and they make me appreciate the small things in life. And I really do LOVE and ADORE them way more than regular humans.

Of course, regular humans generally don't generally sit on the bath mat right outside of my shower and then complain about seeing me naked.