What do you do when your kid’s nagging gets out of control? They ask a question, you say no and yet they ask the same question five minutes later.

I’ve been there.

It started on Saturday with gummies…

What do we do when our kids refuse to do homework?

They fight us. They act defiantly. We know they need to do it but as convincing as we try to be, they fight even harder.

Carly, mom of a 10-year-old boy knows this well.

Each night she steels herself for the inevitable homework battle. Her son sits at the kitchen table where she tries to motivate him, encourage him… sometimes bribe with dessert.

But every night, he pushes back.

Ever walk in your house and become immediately overwhelmed with the stuff lying around?

Its bad enough when you have a kitchen junk counter stacked with 3 layers deep with kid’s artwork, random books and those gadgets for your door that you don’t want to throw away but you don’t really know how to install.

But then is all the stuff your kids leave laying in the living room or crammed onto the top of the family room game shelf.

Sassiness.

What can I say, sometimes we bring it on ourselves…

I walked into the kitchen this morning where my son was sitting perfectly happy, until he saw me…

Children can say some pretty hurtful things.

As my kids perused the LEGO aisle in Target one day, I spied on a mom and her little girl.

They were picking out a birthday present and the mom tried to convince her five-year-old daughter to choose a small LEGO friends set.

The daughter agreed, but then… went one step further: she asked for the same set for herself.

“No honey, we’re buying birthday gifts today.”

“BUT WHY??? THAT’S NOT FAIR”

Mom still tried to explain, “Sweetie, its not your birthday. We’re just getting something for your friend.”

“NO. I HATE YOU! YOU’RE THE WORST MOMMY! I DON’T WANT YOU AS MY MOMMY ANYMORE”

He cried when he opened his present. Actual real tears running down his cheeks.

Nope, not tears of happiness.

To him, Santa betrayed him.

Not more than 2 seconds after they hop in the car, the screaming begins.

“No, that’s not what happened Erik. My lunch is at 11:35am, not 11:30.”

I brace myself.

“NO SISSY! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOUR TALKING ABOUT”

And then, WHAP!

He reaches his little arm across the space in the bucket seats between them and hits her.

“Erik, DON’T HIT ME!!!”

That’s when I intervene.

I don’t know how school bus drivers do it. How do you discipline 30 kids when you’re trying to keep safe and focus on not veering your large yellow, monstrosity off the road

I’m in a Toyota Highlander with only two children and I’m ready to lose my mind.

In the corner of my family room sits my daughter’s backpack, dance bag, coat and her backpack from last year that she refuses to throw away.

Oh my goodness. I’ve asked her ten times to clean up this pile.

I feel as if a huge fist is squeezing my stomach. My shoulders knot up.

Deep breath.

My nine-year-old daughter sighed and stared out the car window at the glow of the street lamps. I could hear the annoyance in her voice.

“I don’t want to talk about it”

Ugh… roadblock. And it had been such a tame conversation.

She told me about how the class had to write a lot that night. Writing during dance class? Totally weird to me. So, I asked her,

“What did you have to write during dance class?”

Bam Total shut down. She clammed up. I had asked one too many questions.

“Ok. That’s fine.” I clenched my jaw. I asked one simple question. Why did she have to treat me like this?

Then, she turned me and said, “I’m sorry.” Not a heartfelt, “I’m sorry.” Rather, the apology dripped with guilt and fear that she had deeply offended me and didn’t want me to be mad at her.