If you can't beat 'em . . .

I'm not sure if it's the age, the DNA, or a combination of the two, but my children delight in non-compliance. In their worst moments, this takes the shape of foot-stomping, red-faced defiance. In their better moments, it looks like two kids ignoring their parents' requests to get dressed/brush their teeth/get in their booster seats so we can get the heck out the door.

Never one to run ahead of schedule myself, having two kids suddenly go deaf in the 20 minutes before we need to be out the door in order to arrive at our destination only marginally late is maddening. I've tried plenty of tips and tricks from Parents magazine (though I draw the line at letting my daughter go to school in pajamas. The one time my son wore his bathrobe to church and brunch had nothing to do with the fact that we were running late.)

And I've done plenty of things (yelling, threatening, yelling some more) that the experts in Parents magazine say I should never do.

I hesitate to say it, because seemingly as soon as I hit on something that works the kids realize I've gotten the upper hand and stop responding to the thing that worked like a charm just days before, but I may have struck gold yesterday.

With a big project looming at work, I was trying my best to get some things done from home, which is always a comedy of errors when you have three kids and no childcare. At lunchtime, everyone except me was still sporting nighttime attire and breath, and my friend, God bless her, had generously offered to have the older two kids over to play in the afternoon so I could actually get some things done.

I foolishly thought that the promise of a play date would be enough to kick the kids into high gear, but it quickly became obvious that ignoring me was just as entertaining as romping with friends. My blood pressure was on the ascent when my daughter, in response to something I'd asked her to do, belted out a gleeful, "No way!" and then quickly announced that it was opposite day.

Since she'd caught me before I completely lost my temper, I played along.

"I definitely do not want anyone to brush their teeth before we go to L's house to play," I announced.

Four little feet scurried to the bathroom.

"Do not, under any circumstances, stand still while I brush your hair," I commanded.

One squirmy little rebel turned to stone before my eyes.

And on we went until we were buckled in the truck and on our merry way.

Like in The Perfect Storm, the circumstances were ripe for this game to play out in my favor.

First, it was their idea. Had I suggested that it was opposite day, I'm not so sure it would have gone over as well. But maybe it would have, because the game was also . . .

Silly. Kids like to be silly, and they love it when grown-ups are silly with them. My sense of humor is more dry to acerbic than silly, so I have a hard time getting into that mode. I like to think that it makes my silly moments even more special.

And finally, opposite day enabled them to indulge their penchant for defiance. They could do precisely what I told them not to do and get away with it - how splendid! 

Stay tuned for next week's update, when opposite day will have likely lost its luster, and I'll be back to playing Joan Crawford sans the wire hangers.