Nothing in This House Belongs to Me

I've come to the conclusion that since having children, nothing in this house belongs to me anymore. All of my stuff has become playthings, weapons (sword fights with wooden spoons), Musical instruments (all the lids on my pots and pans are now dented) drawing implements (eyeliner and make-up) and the list goes on. I can't even eat of bowl of raisin bran without Gavin reaching across the table to steal all the raisins out of my cereal. "Thanks for taking all the good stuff and leaving me the 'Bran'". But since Luke is such a super picky eater, I let this behavior continue to keep Gavin interested in trying new foods. Luke never went through this stage, never wanted to eat off my plate. Now he hardly eats anything. I can't for the life of me figure out how he is the tallest kid in his class—he lives on Chocolate Milk and air.

Back to the point–my stuff. In one breath, I'm saying how they need to share and in the next breath I'm all, "That belongs to me, please put it down!" Of course Luke's rebuttal is, "Mommy, you need to share!" Sorry Luke, I'm not sharing the sharp kitchen knives with you. They are not a toy! "BUT I WANT TO HAVE A TURN!" Now I'm totally exhausted trying to explain why he can't have it. I know it will sink in eventually, but saying the same thing over and over 50 thousand times a day really beings to wear on you.