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.

Name That Dog

NamelessNancy has always had a hard time with names.  She didn't learn her own until she was 3.  All of her best friends at school are named Boy and Girl.  Sometimes the parents get really fancy and name their kid Thatoneboy or Theothergirl.

One exercise that we do with her, is challenge her to name her stuff animals.  We might remember that we've had some success when she named her stuffed bunny Pervert Manager Herbert Nininger.  Tonight, we had another victory with the naming of, not one, but two of her puppies.

The one with light pink spots is named Otter.

The one with dark pink spots is named Effer.

Effer?

Anaconda Rides: $2.00

RubyRoughRider: Um, Mama.
Awesomeness: Um, Ruby.  (This is how most of our conversations start nowadays.)
RubyRoughRider: Kitty is too small.

This statement makes me nervous.

Awesomeness: Kitty is too small for what, honey?
RubyRoughRider: Kitty is too small to sit on.
Awesomeness: Yes, honey.  You shouldn't sit on the cat.  She's too small to ride and you could really hurt her.
RubyRoughRider: But I can ride a anaconda.
Awesomeness:  ...I suppose... (Who am I to crush her dreams?)
RubyRoughRider: Anaconda is big and I can ride and you can ride and I pay $2.00 and you pay $2.00.

I don't even know what to say to that.

She is still telling me about the anaconda.

Apparently he makes the noise, "Eeep, eeep."  He also makes a swish, swish.

She is literally in my face right now telling me this.  It's a good thing I took 4 years of typing.

2 a.m.

I like to be asleep at 2 a.m., Mr.BlabbyBobby.  Instead, this morning I woke to the sound of your happy chatting.  I was about to go back to sleep when you started yelling:

Bye!  Byyyyyyyyyyyye!  Bye!

For half an hour.

I know if I go into your room to quiet you, I'm going to end up either listening to you cry for an hour or putting you to sleep with me.  Happy chatting and bye-byes are much better than either of those alternatives.

If your daddy heard you, he could have put an end to it, but he left his ears in his other pants last night.  Do it again tonight, kid, and I will wake up your daddy and sic him on you.

Now I'm off for some coffee and NoDoz.

Bad Liars + Batteries = Bath Time

GretaGameJunkie got a new Leapster for Christmas.  She packs that thing around with her wherever she goes.  I will say that those things are probably the best thing that ever happened to the battery industry.  I'm not sure that it keeps a charge for an entire week of play.

The point is, Mr. Awesomeness gets tired of replacing the batteries so often and will often lie to Greta about what it will entail to fix her game.  Some days he's a better liar than others.  Today, he just got real lazy.

GretaGameJunkie: Daddy, I need some batteries for my game.
Mr. Awesomeness: Um, we're out of batteries.
GretaGameJunkie: Aaaaaaaw!

Greta, heartbroken, decides to come out and complain.  I heard what her dad said, so I was ready to support his laziness.

GretaGameJunkie: Daddy said there's no more batteries for my game.
Awesomeness:  I'm very sorry that we don't have any batteries.
GretaGameJunkie: But I need them!
Awesomeness: Are those tears?
GretaGameJunkie: Yeah...I need more batteries.
Awesomeness: Are your tears turning into batteries?
GretaGameJunkie: No, Mama.  I need Daddy to get my batteries.
Awesomeness: Did Daddy say we have lots and lots of batteries?
GretaGameJunkie: Yes.  We have lots and lots of batteries.
Awesomeness: Where do we have lots and lots of batteries?
GretaGameJunkie: (immediately perking up) In the drawer, I'll go get them.
Awesomeness: (dammit!)

Sure enough.  Lots and lots of batteries just where we always keep them.  As soon as he heard that she was running after the drawer full of batteries, Mr. Awesomeness ducked out of his office.

Mr. Awesomeness: You can't just tell her there's no batteries?
Awesomeness: Dude, she fact-checked me.  Really, that was a bad lie.  Bad battery liars have to give the kids a bath tonight.

Guess who's giving the kids a bath while I'm typing out this post...

I cannot believe that worked.

Cookie Monster

Every year, Mr. A's boss gives him a tin of Kirkland European cookies.  It takes  us an eternity to finish off these tins because we're not huge cookie eaters. (I mean that both figuratively and literally.)  Never fear, CalvinCookieMonster has been making a vehement volunteer pitch to help move this along.

Just yesterday, it started as soon as he woke up:

Awesomeness: Good morning sunshine!  Did you have good sleeps? (don't judge, he's a 2-year old)
Calvin: *excitedly jumping up and down*  COOKIE!
Awesomeness: No, baby, we don't eat cookies right now.

We have the tin out on the breakfast bar (which I know is mighty contradictory to the fact that we don't eat them for breakfast) and every time anyone walked over that way:

Calvin: COOKIE!

I would ask if he was hungry, and he would get excited and run over to the breakfast bar:

Calvin: COOKIE! COOKIE! COOKIE!

At one point, yesterday, there were 4 adults standing near the cookie tin.  Calvin must have thought that, surely, one of us could get him what he needed.

Calvin: COOKIE!  COOKIE!  COOKIE!

This did not end well.  As soon as the four of us moved away without producing a single cookie for him, he melted down into a screaming, kicking fit.  Thankfully, our company thought it was funny in a pathetic way and were not planning to stay for very long.

Today, we are hiding the cookie tin.

His Name Is...

Every night at bedtime, we do the stuffed animal shuffle.  We allow CarrieCritterHoarder to keep 2 of them in her bed.  Before we put a limit on it, she thought 16 was a reasonable number.  So a part of our nightly routine is to determine which to of her million "favorites" will make the cut.

Last night, her first choice was The Grinch.  For her second choice, she selected a fuzzy, white bunny that she's had since she was a baby.

Carrie: Oh, my bunny!  I love my bunny!  He's my best friend.
Awesomeness: I'm glad he's your best friend.  You've had him since you were a baby.
Carrie: Yeah, his name is Pervert Manager. 
Awesomeness: .......Um, what was that honey?
Mr. Awesomeness: .......Um, did she just call her rabbit Pervert Manager?
Awesomeness: That's what I heard. Honey, what was your bunny's name again?
Carrie: His name is Pervert Manager.  Just like the bunny on Curious George.

Ooooooooh!  Okay.  In one episode of Curious George, the monkey is visiting his friend Bill, and Bill introduces George to his rabbits.  One of the rabbits is named Herbert Nininger. (Yeah, I don't get it either, but whatever.  It beats Pervert Manager.)

The Great Apple Juice Shortage of 2010

Today, I realized that we are officially out of apple juice.  This would not normally be an issue, but my son prefers it and, since he's sick, he's even more particular than usual about getting his way.  When I announced that we were out of apple juice, HelpfulHannah stepped in to help me identify the apple juice that, very obviously, had to be in the fridge.  I must be getting ill myself, because I spent 5 minutes indulging this:

Hannah: Is this apple juice?
Awesomenes: No, that's Worcestershire sauce.
Hannah: Is this apple juice?
Awesomeness: No, that's soy sauce.
Hannah: Is this apple juice?
Awesomeness: No, that's ketchup.
Hannah: Oh yeah.  Ketchup is for french fries.  Is this apple juice?
Awesomeness: No, that's mustard.  Do you know what mustard is for?
Hannah: Mustard is for hot dogs. (I raised her right, thank you very much.)  Is this apple juice?
Awesomeness: No, that's milk
Hannah: Oh yeah.  Is this apple juice?
Awesomeness: No, that's Caesar dressing.
Hannah: Ew.

Etcetera.  Forever.

Actually for 5 minutes, but it felt like forever.

The Spirit of Giving

If my ultimate goal during the Christmas season is to make sure that my children understand that the holiday is all about giving, then I have succeeded.  Yesterday, my kids gave to me all day long:

8:45 a.m.: My daughter gave me an ulcer.

We had just finished unwrapping the last of our gifts when MaryChristmas suddenly announced that she needed to go downstairs now and take a nap on the couch.  She looked very pale and drained, so we took her downstairs and checked her temperature: 100.7.  Nice.  Twenty minutes later we checked her again and her temp had shot up by over a degree.

This is not only no way for a child to spend Christmas, but it's also reminiscent of last year, when she got so sick we eventually had to admit her to the hospital for two days.  We got some fever reducer in her before she fell asleep.  Two hours later, she was back up and playing with her brother.

Whew!

11:30 a.m.: My son gave me a heart attack.

The first sign of trouble was the universal kid-in-distress signal: he was being very quiet.  All of a sudden, Mr. Awesomeness yells, "What is he choking on?!"  We run over to him and he starts fighting us.  The kid can't breathe, but he doesn't want to give up whatever is in his mouth.  At this point, we did what any caring parent would, we forcefully pinned his ass down.  This is when we fish about a lb. of blue foamy stuff out of his mouth.  Well, where the hell did that come from?  We don't buy our kids foam anything, specifically because they try to eat everything.

Then I notice this little blue bouncy ball I got for him as a stocking stuffer.  The ball that I thought was made of either plastic or a hard rubber.  Apparently not, as it had a huge bite taken out of it. Ugh.

8:05 p.m.: My son gave me a shower.

The night was winding down and we thought it was ending well.  MaryChristmas was maintaining a good normal temperature and ChokeyCharlie hadn't tried to eat any of his other presents.  Less than an hour to go until bedtime.  We've almost made it....

ChokeyCharlie started to cry.  This was not unexpected because he missed his nap time this afternoon.

Awesomeness: What's the matter, buddy, are you sleepy?  You should have taken a na.....
ChokeyCharlie: BBBBBBBBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHH!

I'm guessing that, by the time he was done, I had about half a gallon mixture of apple juice, water, milk, raisins, crackers, chips, turkey, bread and chocolate all down the front of me.

How did he know I've had that on my list for years and years?

Moooooore Braaaaaaains

SilentBob, I've been hoping that you would start communicating with us for a long time now.  You held out for so long that your pediatrician now swears you're autistic.  We both know that's not true, so we sit and patiently wait for a time when you can communicate your needs.  And now you do...

SilentBob: Grink!!
Awesomeness: Oh! You need a drink, buddy?  Good job!  Let me get you a drink.

15 minutes later, I get a cup to the face.

SilentBob: Grink!!
Awesomeness: You need more drink?  Let me get you something...

5 minutes later, I realize I haven't heard you for a while.  When I track you down, you're pouring your drink all over the floor.  We take the drink away, because you were obviously not that thirsty.

10 minutes later:

SilentBob: Grink!!
Awesomeness: No way, buddy.  You poured your last drink on the floor.  You can have another drink in a little bit.
SilentBob: Grink!!
*ignored*
SilentBob: GRINK!!  GRINK!!  GRINK!!  GRINK!!  GRINK!!

Well now I've gotten my wish.  This is a conversation we have about 39 times every day.  It's nice talking to you, but you need to come up with some new words.

Quickly.