You Never Come Over Anymore...

It's a frequent complaint of our childless friends.  I'm sure every parent has heard it at some point.  Beyond the usual tired excuse of it being a big hassle to pack kids up and get them out to someone else's house, there is another reason.  A good one.

Destruction.

There's only so much of it that you can curtail.  I don't care how good a parent you are, kids are kids.  Especially when you consider that there are many different types of destruction.  My kids hit them all at the Superbowl party we went to.

Destruction of Peace

• Terrible twos=terrible tantrums.  I was actually considering taking my son home early on in the visit. Five minutes in the door he started crying like someone kicked his favorite Wonder Pet.  He missed nap time though, and I thought that once he slept for a little while, he'd be just fine.  He did okay until he emptied out a 64-count box of crayons onto the floor and we took them away.  He was hitting his head on the floor (carpeted, doesn't have the same effect as it does at home, where our floors are made of laminate material), kicking everyone that tried to touch him and screaming bloody murder the whole time.  He did this in the middle of the game.

Destruction of Person

• One fat lip for a little girl, courtesy of my son's rock head.
• He got as good as he gave though, as an elbow ended up meeting his face at some point.
• One of our friends is about the right height that, when my son comes barreling around a corner, his rock head catches the friend right in the...rocks.

Destruction of Property

• An unknown quantity of Disney Princess accessories disappeared yesterday.  I know my son ate one princess shoe and attempted to also swallow a ring.  I saved it, but it's mangled now.  Beyond those, I don't have a clue until he passes it all.  I'm sure that we'll have some explaining to do if he poops at school tomorrow.
• A personal journal.  Hope they liked my daughter's pictures of Purple Kangaroo.  On every page.  She did it in pencil, so it was easily erased, but she's a heavy-fisted artist, so you can still see the impressions.
• A pool table.  Remember just a sentence ago, when I said that my girl got ahold of a pencil?  Yeah.  Our friend's pool table has light tan felt covering it.  Now it has some lovely artwork covering it as well.  We worked with our friend to clean it as thoroughly as possible, but the cleaners he had there couldn't get it out.  We took our walk of shame out the door the second the game ended.

Next year, we already have plans to stay home.  I'm sure we won't be invited back anyway, so it shouldn't be an issue.

The Blame Game (It Begins Now)

BettyBlame-Shifter: Mama, I want some fish. (Goldfish crackers)

So, I got her some fish.  She then proceeds to sit on the couch with her bowl of fish.

Awesomeness: Young lady, we don't sit on  the couch with the fish.  Please take them to your table.

BettyBlame-Shifter: OOOOOOOOOOOH-taaaaaaaay. 

As she's getting up from the couch, she tips her bowl over.  Who didn't see that coming?

BettyBlame-Shifter: *looks at the mess for about 5 seconds* Mama!!  Look!  You make a mess.

Do The Dew!

Mr. A was in the kitchen earlier this evening, fixing dinner and chatting with me, when it occurs to him that he left the door to the office open.

The office, A.K.A. the Room of Doom is now infested by GilbertGrabbyHands.  This occurs to Mr. A very suddenly and he runs, frantically, for the room.  Two seconds later, I hear:

Oh yeah!  That's just fucking awesome. 

This isn't good.  Before I could yell out to get the story, Mr. A comes strolling in carrying GGHands by his arms.

?

Can you take him and change him?  He has a diaper full of Mountain Dew.

 Apparently GilbertGrabbyHands sat down in his Dada's computer chair and dumped Dada's fresh Mountain Dew all over himself.

Yeah, Mr. A, that is pretty fucking awesome.

I Want My Blankies Back

I have three throw blankets that hang around the living room waiting for me to catch a chill.  They never have to wait for very long, as I'm pretty much a lizard.  Recently, the kids have decided that, no matter how many of their own blankets are around, they need to use mine.  Usually as a napkin or toilet.

Right now I'm shivering and hunched over my laptop, using its heat to keep my hands from frosting over (which is also why I'm posting for a second time today--I've got to keep moving) and where are my blankets?

Blanket #1: The boy fell asleep in it the other night, so I left him in it to take him to bed.  What I failed to notice on the way up is that he spilled milk on it.  Later that night he got mad about the no bottle thing and it got kicked underneath his bed.  This is where I found it this morning.  Stinking like four day old milk.  It's in the washing machine right now.

Blanket #2: This is a huge black and gray comforter.  Not really a "throw" blanket, but sometimes I get really, really cold and a little, fuzzy butt-cover just won't do.  Right now it's missing.  I know the kids took it somewhere and did something with it, but now I can't find it.  Where would it be if I could find it?  In the wash with the throw.  The last time I saw the thing, my boy had peed on it while napping.

Blanket #3: Is in the car and I'm not touching it.  Carsick Cathy barfed on it.  Even if I washed it, I would know it used to have puke on it and, therefore, would not cover myself with it.  I'm a weirdo.  Someday, I will trick Mr. A into removing it from the car for me and then I will kill it with fire.

Yes the car smells.

Really though, it would smell anyway because of the fast food bags in the back.  And because of the week old coffee mug I keep forgetting to bring in.

Now this is getting gross, but I can't stop typing.

What Is That Smell?

You know any time you ever have that thought, the outcome isn't good.  It never turns out to be: "Aw!  Will ya look at that!  The kids teamed up and made me some French Toast.  They're the best kids ever."  No, when this thought first pops into my head, I know I'm in for it.  So it starts:

What is that smell?

It smells kind of mediciny.

Kind of like....diaper rash cream.

Well, that would make sense, since I did just change PeterPoopyPants.

Gosh, why is it that I can still smell this even when PPP moves away?

And why is it getting stronger and stronger by the minute?

And where is MarshaMischiefMaker?

And why is she being so quiet?

And this is where panic strikes.  Any parent can tell you of the absolute horror when your brain finally registers that your kids aren't making any noise. 

Don't worry though, it was nothing.  Just MarshaMischiefMaker painting herself and the playpen with her brother's diaper rash ointment...

I Just Don't Know

I haven't been able to (yes, yes, I'll get you some juice) write much lately and I (stop biting my arm) really don't know what the (are you okay?  where's the booboo?) problem is. 

I have (no, we don't take off our peedy diapers and put them on Mama's laptop while she's typing) plenty of time and the kids (get that basket off your brother's head!) like playing together (give your sister back her train!).

Mr. A helps keep them out of my (is it time for PerpetuallySickPetunia's medicine?) hair so I can get stuff (GET OFF THE COUNTER!!!) done.  NappyTimeNorman still takes some (SHHH! No screaming while your brother's sleeping.  Let's play in your room.) pretty good naps.

It's just so (stop using my arm as a monkey bar) amazing how lazy I've been (get off my neck, you're choking me) lately about keeping (yes, we'll watch Team Umizoomi in a minute, Mama's busy) up with my blogs.  It's, like, worse than (quit crying in my face...I said in a minute) usual lately.

Maybe (aw, do your teeth hurt little buddy?) it's because I've been (GET OUT OF THE BLINDS YOUNG LADY!) sick this last week...

I mean I feel (where's your panties?  you had them on a second ago) much better and I'm getting plenty (stop pushing the couch into your brother) of rest.  There's really nothing (PUT DOWN MAMA'S WII!) stopping me from getting anything (I hear you, I'll get you a sandwich in a minute) done.  I just need to find (do you have to go potty?) some inspiration.  I might just (NO! NOT ON THE FLOOR!  WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU!!?)...

I give up.

The Guys

The invasion is upon us.

We use Pez dispensers as a cheap, non-candy reward for PeggyPezHoarder (well, as far as she knows there's no candy) for when she behaves and doesn't beg for things in the store.  Turns out, she's the best child ever (in the store), which means that we are now overrun with, what she calls, "The Guys". 

They're in her bed, in my coffee table, under the couch, in the couch, in the entertainment center, on the stairs, in the tub, on Dada's desk, on the breakfast bar, in the mop bucket, the laundry bins...

Missing Ingredients

No matter what we're feeding FrankieFoodFiend, there's always 2 missing ingredients.  He adds them in a ritualistic fashion whenever he eats:

1. The first ingredient is hair.  Everything must be worn as a hat and smashed down flat before going on to the second ingredient...
2. Floor sprinkles.  When he's done mashing hair into his food, he drops it to the floor.  

He'll repeat this ritual until all of his food is laying on the floor, then he'll finally pick it up and eat it.

I spend a lot of money on baby shampoo and Swiffer cleaning pads.

Meet Filthy McNasty

Who is this pile of dirt with me?
That's my kid, Filthy McNasty!

She's cute underneath all the grime
It comes off for a limited time
Then back to school she goes
And from her head to her toes
She piles on crud by the pound
Leaves no speck of dust on the ground

 A walking pit of slime and pee
That's my kid, Filthy McNasty!

Gee, Thanks!

• I'm thankful for a minute to myself the day after Thanksgiving.  Yesterday, my house was infested with 4 children under the age of 5.  It reminded me of my burning desire to double up on birth control.
• I'm thankful for no-nap babies who go to bed an hour early and sleep for 12 hours straight.
• I'm thankful for Woolite rug cleaner with Oxyclean.  This stuff got Jell-o out of my dining room rug.  I am a die hard fan now.
• I'm thankful for good friends who don't take it personally when you grab them, throw them in a headlock and pimp slap them. (We stayed up playing Lunch Money.)
• I'm thankful that the kids managed to not be sick for the holiday. 

For the record, I am most certainly not paid in any fashion to endorse anything.  When I do it, it's because the shit actually works like it's supposed to.  I'll let you know if this changes.

The Queen of Clean

Where did I go so right?  PollyPickUpGirl can't stand dirt.  She says, "Mama!  Das astustin!" ("that's disgusting"...we're still working on that) whenever something falls on the floor.  She yells, "Ew! Trash! Blech!" whenever she sees anything that even looks like garbage.

When I accidentally leave her brother's peedy diaper on the floor, she throws it on my lap while I'm typing.  Subtle, kid.  Subtle.