Fighting children is worse than Chinese water torture. At least with water torture it’s something I can control. The drops just drip one after another on me or near me until I go crazy. At least I assume that’s the intent behind it. Go crazy until I break and spill the beans. Share the secret of whatever it is I’m supposedly hiding. 

With fighting children it’s IN my control. I mean one would assume that I have control over my children or at least I should. Not always the case. I can’t control another human being. As much as I may try or teach or beg or bribe or pray. I can’t ever control another human being. God gave us all free will. All of us. And that means even if we’re not mature enough to make the right choice, the choice is still ours. So fighting children over Chinese water torture? No thank you. I’ll take the water any day. Which is saying a lot considering how much I hate water spots on the counter. I hate noises in my ears. Which is pretty much constant and always. Tinnitus sucks. 

I also have conflict because I know I shouldn’t be putting out this negative stuff; these thoughts and words that turn to energy. What I think about most actually comes true. If I say my kids always fight well then I’m going to find every instance where they do so I can prove myself right – consciously and subconsciously. It’s just the way our brains work. Great! Ha! So I know that I should focus on the good in them. And they are so so good. They are God’s children – He reminded me of that just this morning when I told Him they are spoiled little brats. “Hey, those are my children you’re talking about.”  Yes God, I know. I thank you. I’m sorry. 

I know better. Don’t we all? For the most part, know better. Doesn’t mean we always choose to do better. That’s the free will part. I heard or read somewhere that was God’s biggest risk- giving us free will. It was and is necessary for us to learn the lessons and for us to lean on Him and follow Jesus. It’s the only way. So a big risk on His part, yes, but necessary. 

I should focus on the good of my boys. I’m human. I break down. They fight I lose it I can’t stand it I have to get away. So here I sit outside listening to the birds, the cars, the air conditioning units and neighboring doors opening and closing. I sit here typing this with my thumbs on my phone just to get it out of my head because it’s easier to do that than to take pen to paper. I already did that in my prayer to God earlier. I’m typing with my thumbs on my phone with the barely legible screen because the screen cover is so scratched and peeling and has these almost crystal like spots where it’s lifting – and I don’t care. It doesn’t matter in the world of importance and priority to me. I’m lucky to have a phone! 

I’m not sure where this is going and I’m not sure exactly why I started it except to say basically that the amount my boys fight – lately (and again shame on me – and not – for putting THAT out there as what I’m attracting and finding) is so much worse torture than anything else I can imagine. I strive to raise my boys as kind and loving and generous. But no. Not when they’re with Will or me. Not when there are legos or treats or rewards or fun activities. No, they fight over a stupid little magnet from the cute little breakfast place where Nana bought us all breakfast. There are children who don’t even know what a magnet is. Who don’t have food or water or shelter or a mom or dad. Let alone the thousands of legos our boys have. There are children that we sponsor and write letters to and send money and gifts. But our boys, they fight over stupid things. Stupid first world problems and I’m sick of it. I’d rather have water dripped on me and near me for a thousand years than listen to one more petty unimportant argument from my boys. My beautiful boys…