It was one of those weekends. By Sunday night, one thought was going through my head, kind of like those “Get out of the house!” mantras I’d repeat while watching horror movies as a kid. It’s going to be a long summer.

My daughter’s always bored, and needs constant entertainment and a constant playmate. My son is rarely bored; he’s happy to read or build Legos or just… sit. Thus he does not appreciate his sister’s need to play imaginary games or just…run. Arguments ensue.

My husband, well, my husband is more like my daughter than my son, and sees the need to fill every minute of a weekend with some meaningful, super-fun activity. He does not “get” downtime. He would argue that I embrace it a bit too enthusiastically.

By bedtime last night—still the bewitching hour for me despite my kids being eight and 10—I’d had it. After a hectic, stressful, I’m-bored-no-we’re-overly-scheduled weekend, I needed MY time. Yet the kids never cooperate. Every night it’s the same thing. Clowning around and dragging out a flossing/brushing/fluoride rinse process that SHOULD take five minutes and having it take 40 minutes. (No exaggeration. Honestly. Sadly.)  At least now they read to themselves. Enforcement of lights out is another, albeit quieter, battle.

Why can’t they just do as I ask? Say, “Sorry, Mom. Okay.” And then DO it. And yeah, while I’m in my dream world, why can’t my son learn to love to play stuffed animals with my daughter?

Oh, to be able to control their minds just a bit.

Then this video came to me this morning from a friend via Facebook. Very funny, very clever. And oh, did it appeal to that rich fantasy life I have where my kids act and behave just as I want them to. And yeah, my husband, too… where he suddenly embraces a lazy Sunday reading the paper into the early afternoon…

Independent thought is so overrated.