Wherein I act like a spoiled jerk.

I saw the president on Barbara Walters this evening. Man, I hate him. His kids are "smart and funny". They keep him grounded. They make him proud. What did I get? Two kids that act like they pretty much hate me most of the time and are not afraid to embarrass me in public to make sure I get the message.

Oh sure, they're nice enough, as long as I don't stand for something like low-sugar breakfasts, quiet video games, or tooth brushing. Suddenly, every time I disagree with The Boy, he has been acting as if it's a sign that I hate him and he should kill himself. He actually tried half-heartedly to kill himself this afternoon by holding his breath and was mightily pissed off that it wouldn't work!

I know I'm being a jerk about this, but my kids have been such a pain in my ass this weekend. The Girl has been squawking pretty much all evening. She wants to continue one of our irritating, repetitive tasks, and I've decided that I can't do it anymore. She has been insisting at the top of her lungs. She screamed and back-talked through her shower. She threw a fit over the quantity of whipped cream on her ice cream at 10:00 at night. The Boy was just hateful most of the day.

Sometimes, I wonder what the hell I've ever done to deserve this kind of treatment from my own kids.

Oh sure, you say, "Just don't put up with it." The behaviorists say that kids always do something for a reason, and if you ignore it, they'll quit it. But that's shit. If I screamed every time I felt like it, I'd scream as much as they do -- even if people ignored me. I don't see how that's going to solve my problem.

And yeah, you try to convince an autistic child that she has to sit still, be quiet, and pay attention. She can do one out of three, but never all three at once. Being pleasant is just a bonus. Have I mentioned her latest self-stimulation? She gasps as hard as she can, over and over. Yeah, it gives a ton of stimulation, and if you do it enough times in a row, it makes you dizzy. Oh, and it really makes people stare.

I know The Boy has to be held to a higher standard than The Girl, but honestly, I just don't know if he can. He spent the night with my mom Wednesday and still hasn't regained his equilibrium. He's been crying, screaming, and throwing things at the drop of a hat. (And, yes, it's my fault. And The Husband is on my case every time I "antagonize" him.) I think that Christmas present planning is making it worse. I have visions of the usual psychologist intervention and its probably outcome in this house -- The Boy spending the next five years in his room, unable to conjure up enough self-control to be allowed to leave.

I gave up on the whole lot of them around 9:00 tonight and let The Husband deal with them. I sat in my room sewing a pink polka-dotted flannel bathrobe for my daughter -- so that she could screech when I ask her not to run naked through the house after her shower. I could hear the Barnyard DVD going in one room, Stevie Ray Vaughn scratching out the delta blues on PBS from another room, and The Girl whining and hooting up a storm (as only an autistic tween girl can) from another. It's enough to make me take up smoking, just to be allowed to leave the building for ten minutes every hour. (Oh, that rule doesn't apply at home? Shit.)

So, Barack Obama, I voted for you, man, but your kids make me crazy. And God? I want a partial refund on these kids. Seriously, man. I got gypped.