That is me counting to 10. I don't think counting to 10 will ease the steam coming from my ears trying to find any orifice to escape before the head explodes. What has me ready to blow a gasket? The enemy. Those that want to cause my blood pressure to rise beyond hope. I am speaking of the dark side, and the force is very strong in these creatures.

Genuine Boy and Genuine Girl have decided that listening to their father is optional. The noise that I make sometimes translates into their language and it is understood. Usually it has to do with things like, "do you want some ice cream", or "let's watch cartoons", and of course, the most popular word of late, "donut". These words can be said at a volume lower than a whisper, behind a door, on a separate floor, during a hurricane, and they are heard and understood immediately by those children.

"Get in your seats and buckle up", was the easy directive. This command was first spoken well in advance for time to allow for the dreaded slowness that ensues from an activity that has anything to do with anything except "fun". It came as I was buckling in Genuine Toddler. He, by the way, that watches the other children and learns every move made and takes copious and thorough notes. I added "please" to my plea to instill that politeness we all like to see from our children. I like to teach by example for the little things.

A few minutes later returning with Genuine Baby in his carseat, I hear the screams of children fighting. Having to shout to be heard over the pandemonium, I ask them what they are doing? The blame game begins early.

"She started it."

"Well, he won't let me have that."

Whatever the object is, is irrelevant in my eyes at this point as I am worried about running late. I firmly tell them again to sit in their seats and to please put their seat belts on as we are now running a few minutes late. I return inside, and making my last sweep of the house, I found that I had not yet put my coat in the car. I return with the Coat to another bout being played out in the backseat.

Now, my blood is beginning to boil over a little, "why are you not buckled and in your seats"? I asked with my angry look. Suddenly, two children burst into the blame game at the same time, making of course no sense, and honestly, it was a rhetorical question. Again I command them to sit in their seats and to put on there seatbelts. as I head into the house for that coffee that can perhaps make my day salvageable.

Bringing the coffee out to put in the car, I notice that no fighting is going on, and I assume they have finally complied with my request, at this time, made at minimum 10 minutes previous. We are now over ten minutes late. I hate being off schedule. It makes the rest of the day seem like I am making up for the little mistakes of the morning. The next problem comes when I see one child playing with Genuine Toddler in his seat, and the other turned around with her back to the front of the vehicle looking out the back window and singing a song.

"Why are you guys not in your seats with your seat belts on?" A fair question coming from a man that has now vowed to come back from the dead to haunt his children since they seem to want him to have a stroke in the driveway. No answer or anything comes from the boy, and the girl immediately shields herself from any and all liability.

"He won't sit in his seat and so I can help him get buckled."

This said in a tone almost on the verge of mocking the person asking such a disingenuous question.

It has now been 19 minutes since the first request to sit in their seats and buckle their seat belts. The "nice guy" approach seems not to be effective at this point and as the seconds tick by, we grow later on a schedule that now seems laughable to imagine. I could feel my face cracking and my muscles in my neck contract. It was as if I was about to transmogrify into the werewolf in the movies. The pain that one must endure as the bones stretch and the body changes must feel much like a child that disobeys.

As I drove away from the scene, looking in my rear view mirror, I could not help but wonder where in the process of raising my kids I went wrong. Where was the handbook that provides guidance with how to make the children obey commands as given? Perhaps this person could lend a hand.