What is With The Male Brain?? What Is With My Kids??

OK - this has finally proved it to me.

Men are just genetically different from us.

Finished and klaar.

You cannot hold them responsible for their actions, as I now firmly believe that they cannot help it. It is genetic.

Study the picture below:


OK. Here is what you are looking at:

* One 800 ounce pien hammer.

* One pair of 'Titivate' plastic toddlers girls dress-up shoes.

The left shoe has several large holes punched into it.

Making it practically unwearable.

How is it that a three year old can wreck so much damage in the two minutes that he is not being watched?

Why must he always find a stick / pole / hammer / axe / knife to play with? Can't he just KICK A BALL like other boys of his age, for goodness sake????? Why did he have to inherit the ancient Scottish Lust for Battle (from his father's side I might add..my family are (mostly) normal)..

How is it that a five year old can screech so continuously at such a high pitch for such a long time before being able to tell you what the issue is?

I swear, there are some days. And today is one of them.

It is not even 9:30am yet. I have not even brushed my hair yet. I have managed the teeth though.

What is with my kids?? I am going to ask the question that I have been silently mulling around in my head, whilst brow-beatenly staring at the demon spawn(s) children running amok in my house:

ARE MY CHILDREN SPOILT??

Let us study some pictures of my humble abode:

This is a slide. It is made of plastic or something. Whatever. The point is, it is heavy.

It normally stands on the jungle gym.

The Heir (pictured on the right) has SINGLE HANDEDLY removed it from the jungle gym and put it squarely on the trampoline.

By himself.

WTF??

This is the mess next to the jungle gym. Which I might add, Lord & Master of the Manor and I built with our very own two hands, so that our children could play on it, and have something we never had growing up.

Which they now hardly ever use.
You are looking at :
* One Bentley belt (swimming safety ring)
* One dolls poncho (which I might add is one of my doll's which was dug out of the storeroom and is now 34 years old!)
* One plastic soccer ball.

You are looking at:
* One empty McDonalds Chocolate Sundae cup
* One used plastic McDonalds ice cream spoon
(there is another set like this lying close by)
* A hair decoration
* A pair of sandals that has (honestly) been there for two days now)







More shit.











This is a variety of spades.

The spawn(s) children were playing 'seaside, seaside' in the wet ground that was dug up during the sewerage pipe replacement.

And yes, this was after I told them not to play there as the wet soil is not wet as a result of a burst water pipe.....
....anyone blame me for not feeling huggy kissy?





* Several hose pipes. All uncoiled by a three year old with superpowers.

* A wooden gun.









The little maniac himself in action.

You are looking at:

* a garden pick.
* A rusted pipe removed during the pipe replacing process (at least this one was JUST water)
* A toy scooter
* A broken pram chassy set which is now used as a kids push/pull cart.
* Several empty tins. No idea.



The general state of the average doll:

* naked
* headless / armless / legless





And this is only outside. The list is endless.

The point is. My kids live like pigs. Or am I obsessive compulsive.

Is this normal? Do other peoples kids also mess this much? Is it a lot? Is it little? I don't know!

My house is a kids paradise. Jungle gyms, swimming pool. Geese. Dogs, cats. Birds. Toys, toys and more toys. A doll's house. Child friendly safety. (Except for the current drain works!)
Decorated rooms. Expensive toy storing systems in each room.

Yet, it feels like it is all taken for granted. I feel utterly brow beaten.

I have taken a stance not to smack the kids, as I have made this mistake with my stepson. Which I regret to this day. Also, if I start, I fear I won't stop. And besides, it's not fair - I am SO much bigger than them. And it also hurts my hand and leaves me out of breath. So - it is just all round not an enjoyable experience.

Yet I ask myself everyday (when being smacked in the face by The Heir like 5:30 this morning because he is not getting his way) :

AM I WRONG??


Am I undisciplined? Should I get up and smack and shriek like a witch? Be the bad cop?

I don't know - maybe other mothers go through the same?

Do they?