Num(b) Lock

"Hello?"
silence
"Anyone here?"
more silence
"Where are we?"
"Im not sure."
brushing off a thick layer of dust, revealing a sentence:
Every once in a great while, amidst all the yelling and wondering...
"You know what? this is that one chicks blog!"
"Which chick?"
"The crazy one!"
"Oh yeah!! I hardly recognized the place, its like its been abandoned."
"I heard she wrote a book and is too busy canoodling with other famous authors."
"Where'd you hear that shit? I heard she lost her mind and every 3rd Wednesday when the moon is full, if you listen very closely in between the howls of wild coyotes, you can hear her. Yelling obscenities and screeching something about eating broccoli and peeing IN the toilet not ON it."
"Yeah, that makes more sense. Lets get out of here. This place smells."
"Like pee huh?"
"A little."

Cc

Every once in a great while, amidst all the yelling and wondering where youve gone wrong to raise a pair of tiny heathens with no regard for authority, you get an itty bitty reward. A small morsel that you with a great hunger shove in your mouth and savor ever so slowly because you know you may not get another one of those tasty morsels for a very very long time.
I had one the other day. It tasted sweet.
I realize that I am raising two children and the end goal is to release into the wild, a pair of independent thinking, conscientious, smart, human beings. This is tough work. And before you know it, they will have their own opinions and you will no longer be someone they want to be like. I revel in the fact that I can do a goofy dance and they want to copy me. This wont last long. So I like to take advantage of the time I have.
Ok, shut up already. Where am I going with this?
Anyone seen that obnoxious commercial from Ask.com? With the horrible jingle and equally horrible dancing people on it? Tell me you have.
Its been permanently etched into my head.
Let me share a link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bEJqJUKDSWE
Alright, now that I have infected you with that brainwashing ditty, let me continue.
I have been singing and dancing that damn commercial for a week now with no relief in sight.
The other night, my kids are eating dinner and my 4 year old goes, "Hey ladies! Who wants a deal?"
And my 2 year old answers "I do I do!"
They continued on.
"Hey fellas! Who wants a deal?"
"I do I do!"
"Hey chickens! Who wants a deal?" (you knew he had to include chickens right??)
"I do I do!"

My husband walks past me and says, "I hope you're proud of yourself."

Oh honey. You don't even know.
(wipes a tear)

Cannons and Kleenex

I was feeling a bit festive today and put on some Christmas music. Then this song came on:

Amazing Christmas Canon -Trans Siberian Orchestra - The funniest movie is here. Find it And my mind immediately went back to one afternoon around this time last year.
Or maybe it was the year before....my mind is all but gone.
Anyways. My husband and I were driving home from a doctors appointment for my youngest son. I was frazzled since he had shots and hates doctors and essentially screamed the entire time we were in the building. Christmas Canon was playing on the radio and we were driving past the hospital and stopped at a traffic light. On the corner was a father holding the hand of his son who looked to be no more than 3. I remember that the pajamas he was wearing stood out in the gray winter day. As they crossed the street, the little boy, still holding his fathers hand, jumped up and off the curb and then scrambled across the street.
The little boy was bald.
My guess is that he was a cancer patient.
I watched him walk across that street in his jammies with his dad and it just struck a chord with me and I started crying.
I was overwhelmed with sadness for them, gratefulness of what I have and I think that damn song pushed me over the edge.
Now every time I hear this song I think of that little boy.
I don't know where you are little guy, but I hope you are happy and thriving and feeling a bit festive too.

Tiny Dancer

My son is wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a onesie. The onesie is snapped on the outside of his pants. Sort of like a really bad tribute to Madonna. Or a really really bad ballet dancer.
Why you ask is my son dressed like a strange girl?
Let me tell you.
My son has this fun game he likes to play where he goes off into another room quietly craps his pants, digs in there with his hand and then comes running up to me with his hand out to show me.
Kind of like a cat marching with pride up to his owner with a dead bird in his mouth to show off his hunting prowess.
Only instead of a cat.
Its my 2 year old.
And instead of a dead bird.
Its shit.
And no fewer than three times in as many days I have been given the stink finger.
So I embarked on a journey to find the right outfit to deter the doodoo mining.
First I tried the onesie thinking that since every time I turned my back, my son had his hand down the back of his diaper like his butt was a dyke and he was the little dutch boy. Well that didnt work. He poked his fingers through the leg openings. Next I put a pair of pants on over the onesie.
Butt covered.
Legs covered.
Wrong.
Being the little homo sapien that he is. He just took his pants off. Leg opening once again made available for easy crap extraction.
Ok, onesie with overalls. Deterred him for an afternoon, until I caught him standing in front of the TV, with both hands down the sides of the overalls grinning with pride.
This my friends, is why my child is now running around in what looks like a leotard with ill fitting leggings underneath. Took me a while, but I think I am finally one step ahead of my child.
At least until he learns how to work the snaps....

Kitchen Bitchin

My husband found a deal on line for this free video game and downloaded it to my computer. Its cute. Its this girl who runs a bakery and you have to wait on each customer, get their order right, and get them out the door as quickly as possible. Of course it gets progressively more difficult the further along you get. The orders are more complicated and the customers are in a hurry. You will eventually screw up and tick someone off.
I have wasted a small chunk of my life playing this game.
Then it dawned on me I spend a larger chunk of my life playing this game in real life. It hit me when I was getting dinner ready for my kids.
One child is protesting dinner and sitting in the family room. I get the other kid in a booster seat and hand him his bowl of pasta. He starts eating, and I go back to preparing dinner for my husband and myself. My son then tells me he is thirsty. I prepare him a cup of chocolate milk and go back to the stove. My 4 year old hears the words "chocolate" and "milk" and comes in asking for some. I tell him as soon as he is ready to eat his dinner, he can have some. He agrees.
I give him a bowl of pasta and go back to my dinner.
Im reminded that I have chocolate milk to prepare.
I make said beverage. Back to my dinner prep.
My other child who has been quietly eating his pasta like a caveman, decides he doesn't like the resulting mess on his hands and holds his hands out for me to wipe them.
Dinner prep once again abandoned for a quick hand wipe.Then as I go back to the stove I hear the sound of pasta hitting the ground. Then a bowl hitting the ground. And finally a sippy cup of chocolate milk hitting the ground.
I stop what I'm doing and clean up the mess, then clean up the kid. He decides he is not done and wants his cup back.
I could go on here but I think you get the idea. From the moment they sat down to eat until the moment they were done and walked out, I was going back and forth fixing something, wiping something, retrieving something etc.
*click*
*click*
*CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK*
Damn mouse doesn't work in the kitchen. How do I turn this game off? I dont wanna play anymore!

Transcript from Hell

kid 1 to kid 2: Shush!
me to kid 1: Don't tell him to shush, that's not nice.
kid 2 to kid 1: You shush!
me to kid 2: Don't you tell him to shush now. That's not helpfu-
kid 1 to kid 2: Shush!
me to kid 1: NO! That's a NO NO!
kid 2 to kid 1: Yeah! No No!
me to kid 2: STOP IT!
kid 1 to me: Stop!
Kid 2 to kid 1: NO! YOU STOP!
me to everyone: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

I reiterate: Trying to discipline a toddler with a preschooler around is like trying to swim up a waterfall.

Dog Poo

Somewhere in the fine print at the very bottom of the contract you unknowingly sign when you push a human being out of your body it states that you have to explain death to your children.
I assumed telling them that Fido ran away (as did great Aunt Ethel and the guy down the street) was a good route to take. By the time they figured out the truth, they would have seen enough bad programming or played enough video games to know what really happens right? Ok, so apparently you cant do that..PFFT!
Our 13 year old dog took a turn for the worse and we knew the inevitable was coming and coming fast. So I dragged the kids to a book store, asked the guy for "books about dogs (whispered 'dying')". He nodded and pointed us in the right direction. I couldnt decide, so I grabbed three and went home.
I sat my son down and felt like I was tricking him, since he eagerly sat down expecting to hear a story about dogs and probably some fun adventures. I just imagined him listening to me and thinking "What? What the hell is this? The dog is dead? He is in a hole in the ground? The kid is crying? What is this shit?"
He took it all really well, so I assume he didn't really get it. But who am I to force the issue? When I was done, I explained a little about our dog and how he was very old and didn't feel very good, and I took him by the hand and led him out to the garage so we could pet the dog and see that he wasn't in great shape. My youngest who was playing in the corner got up and followed us into the garage. When we got back into the kitchen he was holding his hand out. I assumed he wanted me to hold his hand now too. So I grabbed a finger or two, led him through the kitchen and then let go. I was still talking with my 4 year old trying to make sure I wasn't scarring him for life and ruining any chance of ever sleeping peacefully again. So we went back into the living room, my 22 month old in tow. He is still looking like he wants my attention. I look at him and he holds his hand up at me again.
Im trying to find a funny picture of our dog from earlier times and so in a hurry I shake his hand and say "Nice to meet you!" and go back to flipping through the album.
And then it hits me.
The smell.
Coming from my hand.
And it all started to make sense.
He did not want me to hold his hand like I just did with his big brother. No. He didn't want to shake my hand either. Nope. What he did want however was to show me that while I was busy dancing the death talk tango, he was quietly in the corner doing his own little number (two). And he had the proof on his hand. And now MY hand!
Perhaps he sensed I was struggling with the topic and wanted to lighten it up a bit. I guess I should thank him.
Thanks. :/

Wet Floor and Drywall

I like to think that as my son stands in time out with his face crammed in the corner that he is thinking about why he is there.
Like maybe he is thinking about how it might not have been a very good idea to take an unopened fruit cup, walk into the kitchen where his mom is loading the dishwasher and announce "Watch out!! Flying peaches!!!" while simultaneously hurling the fruit cup into the air towards her. And that as the fruit cup travels through the atmosphere in slow motion and makes a hard landing, splits open and ejects its contents violently all over the floor, and he goes from excitement to immediate fear when he sees his mothers face wrinkle up and the door of the dishwasher fall open as she charges him like a bull whose sees the matador has tripped in the dirt, that maybe, just maybe...he should have thought this thing through a bit more.
But no.
Most likely he is thinking, "I wonder what this wall tastes like?"
Lick.
"Not bad."
Lick.
Lick.

Like Sands Through the Hourglass

My husband took the day off. My first inclination was to get dressed and sneak out of the window and leave him with the kids so I can sit in a Starbucks somewhere and just be.
Then I decided on something a little less selfish and suggested we take a drive to the lake and let the kids splash around in the water. So we pack up and head out.
This being California and in, I dunno, year 40 of a drought, the lake level was really low. This meant the hike from the car down to the water was significantly longer.
We grabbed the stroller, the kids and dog and start down the hill.
About 20 feet in, my 4 year old starts to feel the sand creeping into his sandals and is not impressed with the sensation. So he starts to complain. He hops onto the stroller my husband is pushing and it immediately sinks into the sand and stops. So he gets off and grabs my hand and asks me to carry him.
Um. hell no.
I tell him I have the dog and I cant carry him and he can just rinse his feet off in the water when we get to it. I point to the lake and remind him why we are here.
Keep your eye on the prize buckaroo! Eye on the prize!!
"I dont want to go to the lake! I want to go home! I dont want to go to the lake! I want to go home!!"
Im being pulled by the dog who is trying to keep up with my husband who is pulling the stroller backwards through the sand and rocks at breakneck speed trying to get to the water as quickly as possible. My youngest is sitting in the stroller, cheeks bouncing up and down and he has this look on his face like "WTF."
My 4 year old is wailing behind me and acting like we are walking through glass and fire. I look back at him and he has this drool strand hanging off of his lip and flapping in the wind.
All I could do at this point was laugh. Im cracking up at the whole scene. It was something straight out of a Chevy Chase movie.
After what seemed like an eternity, we finally made it to the waters edge. And thankfully everyone ended up having a great time. But man, did we have to work for it.

Pot-Bellied Pig

I am on a mission. I have been rummaging through my sons old baby clothes looking for onesies. I thought that he had outgrown them, but I see a huge glaring need for them once again.
I cannot keep his hand out of his diaper.
Its there. All the time. Walking around, sitting, sleeping even.(I had to take a picture of him sleeping like that. Need to fatten the blackmail photo album in preparation for the teen years.)
Apparently there is a fear running rampant among men that at any given moment, their man parts could fall off. They have to keep close tabs on them at all times.
Step, step. Check. Step, step. Check.
He looks like a little Al Bundy. All he needs is a remote in the other hand.

*blink*

Yesterday I took the kids to a friends house to celebrate her daughters birthday. She has four children so I wasnt terribly concerned about what my kids could get into.
Silly me.
I had a temporarily let my guard down and had the nerve to have a 30 second conversation with a girlfriend and my 20 month old disappeared.
Two story house. Bottom story filled with balloons, children and even a clown!
No kid though.
Stairs. GAH!
I ran up stairs and quickly scanned the room. Its a play room. Toys as far as the eye can see.
No kid though.
I start calling his name and running from room to room.
Where was he?
The master bedroom.
In the 30 seconds it took me to begin a conversation, my child decided against watching a clown, scrambled up a set of stairs, bypassed a room full of toys and found his way into the master bath.
I found him swirling toilet paper with both hands in the toilet bowl.
My friends husband said "If it makes you feel any better, I just cleaned that toilet yesterday."
...sigh....
Reason number six thousand eight hundred and twenty three why I avoid outings in which I cannot contain my kids either in a stroller, car seat or shopping cart. If I cant tie them down, I dont wanna go. ;)

Last night Im helping my 4 year old get his pajamas on and as he steps into his shorts, his foot brushes up against me and its wet. He had just gone to the bathroom, so I suppose there's a number of reasons why he might have gotten his foot wet.
Right??
I brace myself for the answer and ask, "Why is your foot wet?"
Silence.
I repeat myself.
"WHY is your foot wet??"
I walk him into the bathroom and Im scanning to room looking for answers. Not much to see but a few drops of something wet on the rug in front of the toilet.
Trying to not over react on the off set chance he had a potty accident, I ask him again, as nonchalantly as an irritated mom can be.
"Honey? What happened? Did you pee on the floor? Why is your foot wet?"
He looks around and goes, "Umm (lie coming)I think maybe it got wet from the shower."
Looking at the bone dry shower I call him on his lie and ask him to tell me now what really happened.
"Ummm, I think maybe my foot accidentally fell in the toilet."
Ah, well okay then. I can only imagine the pickle one must find themselves in when they are standing at the toilet and their foot accidentally falls in. Must be one of the dangers of standing up to pee.
Deciding it wasn't worth it to press him for any info that I didn't really want to know, I asked him wash his foot and go to bed.

Pearls

Ive been trying for three days to sit down and update my blog, but I have not been granted such luxuries lately. So here's a quick tip that my son offered up when I get frustrated. (Courtesy of the latest episode of Blues Clues)

"When you get frustrated, you stop, take a big breath, and stink."

I know all the joys having a house of boys has in store for me. Having watched many episodes of Malcolm in the Middle, and watching my grown husband interact with his grown brother I have an idea.
And my own two children are starting to clue me in as well. They say kids are like sponges, absorbing everything around them.
This is true, they absorb the energy out of me faster than Brawny on spilled OJ. But that's not what I'm getting at, so back to my point.
They are so quick to learn something new, and just as quick to pass it on.
Take the karate chop/high kick.
My friends tweenie cousins played a fun game of karate-chop/high kick with my friends daughter. Who in turn played the fun game of karate-chop/high kick with my son. This was broken up after a couple of stomach shots. Even though no one was hurt and giggles were a plenty, this was still a game barreling down the fast lane on its way to the city of Ugly. So that was done.
*Pfffwp*
(sound of sponge absorbing)
Fast forward 5 days, and I'm laying on the ground and my 20 month old walks up to me and starts kicking me in the head. Sure it was a wobbly kick with no power behind it, but I know what he was getting at. In his little mind, he just pulled off some great Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon move with perfect precision.
This morning, my oldest was sitting on the sofa with his legs sticking off the end, and my youngest would back up until he touched his feet, then my son would launch him across the room. Inches from smacking his whole body against the baby gate on the opposite wall not unlike like a crash test dummy, he would laugh and laugh and then back up and do it again.
Yes. They were playing "launch the baby".
So I have an idea what I'm in for. And I'm not prepared.
And now if you will excuse me, my son just scotch taped his arms and legs and head and asked me "Is this all I need to roller skate?"
Thank God that boy doesn't own any roller skates...

Niagara

Trying to discipline a 1 1/2 year old with a 4 year old around is like trying to swim up a waterfall.

Walking Among the Dinosaurs

Lunch was, once again, a huge success. Although I cant complain since the peanut butter brontosaurus was tossed in favor of carrot sticks.
But still. Someone needs to appreciate the cute frickin' sandwich I made. And I mean someone besides the firetruck.

Pinch Me.

This week has been one of those weeks where it just seems like the bickering was magnified, the screams were amplified and the mischief was taken to all new heights. It seemed relentless, even down to the attempted 7 o'clock bedtimes that turned into late naps that turned into 11 o'clock bedtimes. I cant prove it, but I truly think that if you wake with your kids, and go to sleep with your kids and get little to no kid free time in between that your life expectancy decreases dramatically.
So as I sit here to recharge with my third cup of coffee I find myself the winner of the SAHM lottery.
My 4 year old is at school and my 19 month old is asleep in the other room.
Can you hear that?
Its quiet, except for the sounds of my typing and quiet noise of the news on the television.
THE NEWS!!
Not the brain piercing sound of the raspy Captain asking me if I know who lives in a pineapple under the sea.
Let me just sit here and soak this in.
.
.
.
.
Hells bells. Nap time is over. I hear my little tank thundering down the hallway.
Well, I will always have the memory of this sweet moment.

Happy 4th of July!

Scanning......scanning.......target located!!

Toddlers are a curious folk. Their little minds cannot comprehend directions that involve more than one step. They haven’t mastered the art of keeping their lips together and thus walk around with a constant thread of drool connecting their chins to their shirts. Heck they cant even control their bowels very well. You can entertain them by covering their own eyes over and over again.

However…..leave a wallet, cell phone or iced coffee on a counter anywhere in the house, and they will take a mental picture of it and go about their business. Then three hours later when you are called away to clean up a mess in another room, they will pull that picture up and with GPS accuracy they will seek it out.

My son will be sitting on the floor, watching his hand open and close with the same intense concentration as a bomb tech trying to decide to cut the blue or red wire. If I leave the room for a split second, I will return to find him either perched precariously on the back of the sofa manhandling the glass candle holder on the wall, or sitting on the top of the computer desk pumping lotion all over the table. He is just that quick and determined to find trouble.

Im not 100% positive, but I suspect my 4 year old is in on it too. I think Im being punked.

Mission Im-poo-sible

It all started with my cute little child toddling up to me and pointing to his butt and saying "Poo? Poo?" Thats his cute little alarm going off, telling me he stinks and requires my immediate attention. I threw him over my shoulder like I always do when I head to the nursery to change his diaper and laid him down on the changing table.
I have to do everything short of hog tying him to keep his hands out of his own doo, so we are wrestling and I get the dirty diaper off and think I have him cleaned up and then when I lift his legs up to put the new diaper on, I see a whole new mess now being ground into the changing table cover and up his back.
ACK!
I pick him up and clean him and set him down to run naked for a minute while I clean up the mess on the table. No sooner had I stripped the changing pad cover when my 4 year old comes down the hallway.
"Mommy! What is this? What did he do?? What is this?"
And I see my son in the doorway with BOTH of his hands covered in poop. It looked like he had been fingerpainting.
I gasped in horror and told him "DONT MOVE!" and grabbed his arms and guided him straight to the sink and as Im scrubbing his hands, he is explaining that theres more on the floor and on his baby brothers car in the living room.
Really? How the hell did this happen? There was no indication that the diaper boarders had been breached. No smears down the leg, no doo on the top of his shorts.
I went out into the living room and sure as shit (pun intended) there's a glob of doo dripping down the side of a toy car and another little dollop on the ground.
I cleaned up the mess and kept trying to figure out what exactly just went down.
Im still baffled.

Stiff drink please.

"Mommy, where did Daddy go?"
"He went to get himself a sandwich."
"But where?"
"He went to a place called Subway."
"Where?"
"SUBWAY."
"Is it called Chilis?"
"No, its called SUUUUUUUBWAAAAAAAAY."
"Do they have cannon balls?"
"No"
"I wish I had a cannon ball."

(Me too son, Id drop it on my head about now. It would be less painful than this conversation.)

How to Build a Bomb

Heres all you need:
1. A hot ass day
2. One small family room equipped with substandard air conditioning
3. Two small wired and bored children
4. Remove one father who is on the lake with a friend in a brand new ski boat and add one grumpy mom who is jealous and hating on removed father.
5. Throw in one toy that both kids want
AND RUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A Mighty (long) Wind

Today we picked up my husband from the airport, and on the way my 4 year old asked me, "Mommy, why do cars have horns?"
My first thought was "It gets the attention of the a-hole who just cut me off so I can flip him the bird."
But seeing as how this was a small child (who I just finished writing about his innocence) I decided on a more appropriate answer. I explained that horns are good for alerting someone when they accidentally drive too close. I added that its also good for when the light turns green but the person in front of you isnt paying attention and wont move. You can honk the horn and let them know the light turned green and they need to get going.
He was quiet for a second and then said "That was a really long story."

Thanks, son.

After we picked my husband up, I told him what our son said about my not-long-at-all-thank-you-very-much explanation of the use of horns, and he looks back at him and says "Get used to it, son. She's got all kinds of long stories to tell you."

Thanks, honey.
Grumble.
Yo! Ive got something to show you! *whack!*

Forgive me while I get mushy

I was sitting here this afternoon listening to my son explain to me how mixing apple juice with orange juice will turn it into cherry limeade and as often happens when his stories spin out of control and he begins to lose his direction and start making up words, I wandered deep into my head.
I was watching his grand gestures and big eyes trying hard to convince me to let him mix the juice together and I couldnt help but admire his innocence. He is nothing more than a kid. He cant see beyond the moment he is in.
Whereas Ive watched more CNN and Nancy Grace than any human ever should, he knows only that Mickey Mouse can solve any problem with his Mouseketools. He gets excited when junk mail comes in that has a sticker inside. It could be a ladybug sticker, or it could be a free magazine offer sticker, but if it sticks, then its a present from the mailman worthy of an excited smile. Simple things like eating lunch in the backyard and decorating a card for Daddy are done with such happiness.
Im the over informed grumpy parent whose job it is to protect her offspring, and foresee any potential dangers that lurk with every move we make. My offspring however leap without looking and go headfirst into any and everything with out a care in the world.
Its really a neat thing to watch. I admire him for that.
And more than ever want to get that human sized hamster ball to keep him in forever so he will always make cherry limeade out of apple juice.

More lunchtime chit chat

(My 4 year old is observing me addressing my youngest who just chucked his pizza onto the floor)
"Honey, please don't throw your food."
"Why did you just call him honey?"
"I call all of you honey. I call you honey, I call him honey and I call Daddy honey."
"You do not call Daddy honey!"
"I don't?"
"No! You say 'Yo!' and he says 'What do you want?' and then you say 'Come here I want to show you something!'"

At this point I'm envisioning myself sitting on the couch with a beer in one hand and a big stick in the other.
Yo! I wanna show you something!....WHACK!


*For the record, I do not call out to my husband by yelling "Yo." So if you too had envisioned me sitting on the couch with a big stick and had your phone in hand with the C and the P already dialed and just waiting to finish reading this before dialing the S, be rest assured that is not how it is. I don't even own a big stick.

Aint No Mountain High Enough....

My son threw me a curve ball this evening when he asked me, "Can you, uh.....pee on a mountain?"
Sure thing. Right after I get done defecating on that bird over there I'll go tinkle on a hillside. Anything for my baby.

Would you like a megaphone and an airhorn next time?

I'm sure my neighbors appreciate that my husband leaves the bathroom window open all the time, so they can enjoy such wonderful mother/son moments like this one:

Mooooooommy! I'm done pooooooping!!
(ok, I'm on my way.)
I SAID I'M DONE POOPING!!!!
(I heard you. Stop yelling!)
WAIT!! I'M NOT DONE. I'M STILL POOPING!
(#$%&)
Why'd you say that bad word?........I'm done pooping now.

School Supplies

Army fatigues? Check.
War paint for face? Check.
Hard hat with little branches stuck to the top? Check.
High powered binoculars? Check.
Wire tap? Check.
Plausible story to give to police officer after I'm detained for hiding in the bushes outside my 4 year olds preschool class? Check.
Bail money for when the reason doesn't fly and contact number for my husband to pick up my 18 month old after I'm arrested. Check & check.

And you all thought I'd have a hard time with my child starting school. This is a cinch. Just takes a little planning.

Note to my 4 year old

My child. My wirey, cute, spaz ass monkey. Trust me when I say this: You will not spontaneously combust, implode, melt, drop like a fly or cease to be if you stop talking for one minute. It just wont happen. In fact there is a whole plethora of wondrous things to be gained by your ever elusive silence. Like a properly finished phone call, a complete episode of Friends watched without resorting to reading lips and maybe just maybe a small break for a little mind who is obviously overworked trying to come up with such witty things as 'do cars drive on wiggly waggly garbage roads?' and 'look at me I'm sitting upside down' or my favorite ' can you poop on a chicken?'
So please, dont hurt yourself trying to fill up each and every waking moment with sound.
I never have and will never be able to poop on a chicken. Let me get that out there on the record. Pooping on poultry. Not gonna happen. Ever.
I have already seen you sit upside down. Its great. You've got the trick mastered.
Im not sure why you think your toes are crying, and singing about poop doesn't make poop cute.
You know whats really cute though. Seeing your beautiful face smiling at me and winking.
Oh and your mouth is closed. Thats priceless.
I love you.
~Mom

Would you like seconds?

Im not a very good cook. Im not bad, but I would never host a dinner party.
My area of specialty is casseroles. Anything that calls for a can of cream of mushroom or cream of chicken soup. My poor husband is a meat and potatoes sort of man. I have prepared countless rubber pot roasts, flavorless meatloaves and dehydrated chicken dishes trying to appease him. But sadly I always retreat back to my safe haven of casseroles and what he lovingly refers to as "slop dishes".
Slop would be anything without a formal title that is prepared in one skillet. ;)
So in an effort to end the moans and groans, I flipped through my Rachel Ray magazine and found a recipe that sounded good and had no "cream of...." listed in the ingredients. And it was a 30 minute meal! Score!! That meal was a great success and my husband came home from work and sat right down and devoured it with a smile on his face. (He doesn't smile when he eats the slop dishes, rather sits somewhat resigned with his shoulders slouched. Its quite pitiful.)
Feeling a renewed sense of hope for my culinary abilities I pressed on and looked for more delightful creations. I found a recipe on line for a cabbage stew that sounded pretty good. It had beer in it. Cant go wrong with beer, right?
Here's where things get tricky. If the ingredients aren't specific and leave room for interpretation my mind is automatically wired to make the worst possible choice. I don't do well on my own in the kitchen. I need Chefboyardee or Betty Crocker to hold my hand through each step of the process.
Recipe just says "beer". Doesn't say what brand. Doesn't even specify if it needs to be light or dark.
So I took what could have been a pretty tasty cabbage stew with potatoes, and added a bottle of Guinness and turned it into a pot of vile crud that not even Farmer John would toss to his pigs.
Damn. Strike one. I had Coco Puffs for dinner that night.
The very next day, I found a recipe for Slow Cooker Short Ribs. I carefully put in a whole slew of tasty spices and things and then breaded and browned the short ribs and set them on low to simmer all day.
Come dinner time, I open the crock pot and to my horror I see a huge pile of overly breaded and now slimy looking ribs that do not taste like ANY of the ingredients I put in there. So not only are they incredibly unattractive to look at and have the feel of waterlogged fried chicken, they also have no flavor to them. Wow. Strike two.
I had a glass of wine for dinner and another bowl of Coco Puffs.
My husband asked me this morning what tasty treats he can expect to come home to this evening. I said "Something with cream of chicken in it."
He sighed and went to work.

That S on your chest. Is that for "Stinky"?

I bought two pillows today. So when my husband came home from work, I pushed two little kids at him and I retreated back to our bedroom and tried them out. I was laying there in the quiet listening to the kids yelling and laughing and being kids. Usually when that noise is happening in my ear continuously its quite a racket. But from here on the other side of the house its nice. I like the sound of my children playing.
As I am enjoying the peace and listening to the background noise of high pitch squeals and laughter, the concert takes on a new tone. A deeper and more urgent one.
"Honey!"
Uh oh.
I know that "honey". That's used when I'm needed to save something, patch someone, or clean something up.
"Honey!!"
Ah shit. Better shake a leg.
I run down the hallway and meet my husband at the baby gate and he is holding my 18 month old across his arms, like he is flying him around like Superman.
Only Superman doesn't look like this.
My son is naked from the waist down and spotted from butt to toe in doody.
Yes. Poo.
He took it upon himself to fill his diaper and then take it off. He tried to hand it to my husband who had thus far apparently not been paying a whole lot of attention.
So I took Superman and fly him down the hallway and straight into the shower, while my husband cleaned up the mess in the den.
I have to giggle because this is once again something that would only happen when Daddy is on duty.
(or is it doody?)
My new pillows seem really nice. But I guess I will wait until the kids are in bed to test them out again.

"This is a Crock" pot.

I am a short order cook. I am not happy about this, nor am I proud that Ive got myself stuck in this position. But whatever.
Tonight, I made chicken fajitas for my husband and I, and leftover macaroni and cheese for the kids. My 4 year old has it in his head that he does not like macaroni and cheese from the fridge. It needs to be straight from the box. So I went so far as to heat it up while he wasn't looking, and stuck a pot and a spoon on the stove so it appears that it was just made.
I got my plate ready, got a bowl of pasta for my oldest, and then a small bowl of mac n cheese along with a couple of Gerber Graduate pasta pick ups on a plate for my youngest. I set all of this down on the table, sat down and called them in for dinner.
I envisioned my kids skipping in from the family room, hopping up at the table and eyes wide with gratitude sitting down and enjoying a meal with their mom.
(ok, no I didn't really envision that, I more just made sure I had a list of lies ready to combat whatever objections were about to be hurled my way when my son saw the bowl of what probably screamed "I'M TWO DAYS OLD & STRAIGHT FROM THE FRIDGE".)
So what happened?
They both ran in. The oldest looked at the bowl like it was a dirty diaper and said "I dont want macaroni and cheese." And ran out of the kitchen.
My youngest was game though. Even climbed up into his booster seat to string me along a bit. He grabbed a couple of noodles, mashed them in his hands. Stuck a ravioli to his fork and flung it to the floor. Tipped the bowl of mac n cheese over. Flung another ravioli and jumped down and left.
*sigh*
I had fajitas for dinner. They were pretty tasty.
My children? Well one is apparently living on a full tank of ornery, and the other one is eating a Crayola pen.

Huh?

I think its funny that my 4 year old will argue with my 18 month old. The tiffs usually go like this:
"Gaa!"
"Stop telling me what to do!"
"Baba?"
"No!"
"Lilah."
"I am NOT Delilah. She is a dog!"
"Bye-bye Dada mumble/babble/coo"
"I SAID STOP TELLING ME WHAT TO DO!"

Though I suppose this shouldnt surprise me. The kids got some wiring issues that Im fairly certain came from my side of the family.

The other day he was playing on his little plastic slide when all of the sudden he bursts out with "I do NOT like doctor appointments for me! I said NO MORE!" He is looking and my husband and I with this mean look on his face like we just got done poking him with sticks and making him eat lemon rinds.

I picture a little wheel in his mind spinning around with all the possible topics of discussion on it. And him choosing to stop the wheel on whatever topic allows him the most dramatic facial expressions and with enough gusto to carry on for the longest period of time.
"Poop on a chicken" nope. Use that too often.
"Dont like the new bathroom floor." Thats a good one but I'll save that for later.
"I dont like to try new things." Nah. Lost its effectiveness.
"Traumatic doctor visit." YES!

*twitch*blink*twitch*

Im sitting here trying to think of a clever story to share and I have to say.... Im strugglin a bit. My tired brain is reliving the days activities and after each thought, it sputters and stalls.
I started off well enough taking the kids to the zoo, where I think they got some new ideas.
But afterwards, somewhere in between transforming my kitchen into Death Valley in July with the turn of an oven dial, micro managing the clean up of a bedroom closet that was completely emptied, breaking up the wrapping paper sword fight, picking ramen noodles off the floor and table and chairs after my youngest mugged my oldest for his meal, and then finally burning my own dinner I seem to have lost the ability to make my brain do much more than control my breathing and the occasional blink.

My husband loaded the dishwasher last night. Which was a God send because the kitchen was the same temperature as the sun and I would have just let the dishes scum over until fall.
After he loaded it he came in and asked me about the new dish detergent packets I recently bought.
"You just put it in the little tray?"
"Yep. Put it in the compartment with the door and thats it."
Easy as 1-2-3.
He ran the dishwasher and went to read the paper.

Later on I decided to brave the heat and empty the dishwasher. I started at the top an put away all the cups (including about a kajillion sippy cups).
Then I moved on to the bottom section and put a few plates away then reached for a large Tupperware container and nestled inside looking like a hobo who's just happy to have made it this far before getting caught, was a tiny little packet.
Of dish detergent.
Still in its plastic wrapper.

I overlooked one important step when I was telling my husband what to do. I failed to say "Unwrap the little detergent cube first."

So if you happen to visit in the next few days, carefully inspect your glass before you take that first sip. I got most of the cups and bowls out of the cupboard and back into the dishwasher for a second cleaning, but Im not sure I got them all.
And forgive me if your tea tastes a bit like OJ, or your bowl of ice cream has a dried green bean waiting for you at the bottom.

In my husbands defense though, it was really hot in there. Perhaps he was suffering from the early stages of a heat stroke.

Whats Really Going On?

I googled "50's housewife" this afternoon and came across this picture.
Why did I google "50's housewife" you ask?
Your guess is as good as mine. I also googled "Rorschach Ink Blot Test" and "Boost Mobile Armpit Commercial". So I cant begin to know why I do what I do.
Lets move on shall we? As I was saying, I googled "50's housewife" and came across this picture.
Now at first glance, it appears to be a happy housewife polishing her appliances in her happy kitchen, while her husband washes his automobile in the driveway. Aww. So syrupy and sickeningly sweet huh?
But wait. Looks can be deceiving. I have a hard time believing that this woman is actually finding joy in shining this shit in the kitchen. I mean really, who smiles like that while looking at a frying pan? However, a woman who say....had to strongly encourage her husband to get the hell out of the house and do something constructive like wash the damn car already, might smile with great satisfaction as she wiped her husbands forehead print off of said frying pan. Yes, that might make her smile.
And the toaster and coffee pot and various utensils are there for backup. He knows this, and that is why he is watching her. Closely.
I think Ive cracked the mystery of this 50's housewife. Im going to go dig out my apron and frying pan now and see if I cant get my SUV washed. ;)

A message on Mothers Day...

I dont have time for an elaborate and humorous post today. I am hiding from my children. My mom is with them, so I dont feel guilty either. It IS Mothers Day after all right?? Yes I realize my mom is a mother too, but grandkids dont count.
Happy Mothers Day! May the spankings be few (unless they are for you and you are into that kind of thing) and the kisses a plenty! Enjoy your day!

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

Mr. Clean

My husband cleaned the kitchen the other day. Did a fantastic job by the way.
When my husband stumbles into the kitchen after Ive cleaned it, he acts like a child who has just happened upon a freshly made bed and cannot resist the urge to jump on it and trample it back down into something the looks like its occupants have just left it after a long night of restless slumber.
Its clean for like....a minute before cups start gathering on the counter and forks and various utensils have started their migration back from the drawer and into the sink where they are obviously more at home.
But when my husband cleans the kitchen, he acts like he has painstakingly hand crafted the worlds first Ferrari and you must only gaze at it from a distance because your very breath could be its undoing. When he is done he puffs up and stands guard waiting for someone to enter, so that he can give a look that says "So help me God, if you so much as leave a cup, plate, crumb or piece of DNA in here I will make you eat it for dinner along with a sizable helping of my foot for dessert."
And should some unfortunate soul put a plate in the sink he will hear it from wherever he is in the house and march in there and proclaim "Don't you dirty up my clean kitchen!!"
Because when a woman cleans it, well its just something that needed to be done, but when a man cleans it, it needs to be encased in glass, roped off and guarded with lasers for all eternity.

What? A story that has nothing to do with my kids?

On my way to Starbucks the other morning a song came on that was from the movie City of Angels. My wee little mind whirled and sputtered and produced a funny story from long ago that I hadn't thought about in forever.
When that movie first came out, I went with a friend to see it in the theater. And anyone who has seen the movie knows its a tear jerker.
The main guy (Nicholas Cages character, I cant remember his name) is grieving the loss of his love. So he goes to a store that he and his lady friend used to go to together. There was a previous scene involving pears. (The details escape me. She never tasted a pear so sweet or something to that nature.) Anyways, so he goes and he gets to the produce section and sees the pears. In an act of desperate longing for his dead lover, he takes a pear and puts it in his basket. Then he takes another, and another and another filling his whole basket up. It was a pitiful scene to watch and of course I'm sitting there blubbering silently in my seat.
Out of the darkness, my friend says, "42105" (not sure what the exact number was. This was a long time ago so bear with me here, ok?)
I sniffle some more and ask, "What?"
He repeats himself, "42105"
I'm no longer crying and am just confused. Why interrupt this deeply emotional part of the movie to spit a number at me? What the hell is he talking about?
Then he explains "42105. Its the produce code for pears."
Did I mention my friend at the time was a grocery store cashier?
I bust out laughing and the sappy moment was gone. Forever replaced with a produce code.
Which I suppose worked out considering if I remember correctly, the movie never did have a happy ending and otherwise I'm pretty sure I would have walked out of the theater ready to crawl into a hole of despair and pray to be swallowed by the earth.

*looking around suspiciously.....*

Why is there an ad for treating compulsive eating at the bottom of my blog?
Somebody tryin' to tell me somthin'?
Maybe I should stop eating here at the computer.

4

Lets look at the number 4 shall we?
Four:
The number of days since my last post. Sorry about that. Ive spent the last few days being something to sleep on, puke on, cough on, wipe a nose on and hitch a ride on.
Four:
The number of years my firstborn has been on this planet. (yes I suspect he spent some time on another planet. Possibly getting his assignment to push the limits of my sanity from a large green blob with bugged out eyes and a silver cape.)
Four:
The number of days until my wedding anniversary.
Four:
The number of years I will have been married when said anniversary rolls around.
Four:
The minimum number of times I have been puked on in the last 24 hours.
Four:
The number of times I have to tell my son to pick up something before he actually does it.
Four:
How many times each hour that I have to do a toy round up in order to keep to a minimum the risk of rolling an ankle trying to walk on hot wheels and pull-along-frogs.
Four:
How many loads of laundry I need to do a day to keep up. (I am never caught up mind you)
And my favorite four:
The number of days until my mom gets here and can experience most of these other 4's with me. Love you Mom!! Im looking forward to your visit like you just don't know.
(pinky up to mouth, laughing sinisterly. Muuuuaahhhahhahhahaa!)

Cheese Balls

I am sitting here at the computer and my 4 year old is supposed to be at the kitchen table finishing his grilled cheese sandwich.
(I abandoned him 10 minutes ago after the rest of us ate our lunch and he was too busy playing and hopping all over. So he is on his own in there.)
He pokes his head around the corner and being the charmer that he is, he winks at me.
I ask, "Are you done with your lunch?"
He emerges from behind the wall and says "Yep! All done!" But he pauses to see if I'm buying his story.
I am not.
"Why do I not believe you? Go finish your lunch."
"Oh you believe it! I am done!"
(now he is standing there holding his crotch.)
"Do you need to go potty?"
"No."
"Then why are you holding yourself?"
He puts his arms up in the air and with a big grin he exclaims "Because I like to do that!"
Ok, that I believe.

Theres no such thing as a "Toll-Free Call"....

It will cost you 5 minutes of clean up for every one minute of talk time in our house. This is just another example of why email and texting are my top forms of communication as of late.

....please stand by....

I remember years ago, my best friend and I went to an amusement park. It must have been an off day, since at some point it seemed that all the rides were shut down temporarily. We would get to the front turnstalls and we would hear the announcement over the loud speaker, "We are experiencing technical difficulties." We heard that damn saying so much that day.
Technical difficulties, technical difficulties, technical difficulties....we started to make fun of them.
Technical difficulites? Testicle diffniculties? Teffinal dickniculties?
We still managed to have alot of fun that day. Mostly doing stupid stuff like making fun of the testical diffniculties. I still laugh about that. Maybe you had to be there. (giggle)

My point? Sometimes my everyday adventures with my offspring just scream to be turned into some sort of funny tale. Its like their antics are almost scripted and its too easy to write down. Other days, my mind is fried and its all I can do to form sentences that make sense.

Today, in a matter of minutes I went from having two fully dressed kids, to one missing his shirt because he spit out his chocolate milk, and the other stripped to his skivvies after he dumped over his cup of chocolate milk. After cleaning up that mess I met my youngest in the living room just as he jammed a train track part a little too far into his mouth and threw up on himself.

Im sure theres humor to be found in this, but the 'ol gray matter isnt up to the challenge at the moment. In fact all the 'ol gray matter wants to do at this point is crawl up on the roof, drink beer and maybe throw rocks at squirrels.
So please stand by as I am having some serious testicle diffniculties.

El Pollo Loco

My kid is seriously crazy. He comes up with the most random things to talk about. Well random, but with one thing in common: poop. Every conversation we have has something to do with poop. Im just going to type here the next thing he says:

Can you poop on a chicken?

(see? he's nuts.)

Earlier he ran from his room and said "Mom! Listen! Im going to say something in spanish! "mococheecho" and ran away. When I asked him what that meant, he said its Spanish in California.
Huh?

He just asked me again if I can poop on a chicken, and then licked my arm.

Help me.

Stargate

My computer chair. Once my comfy little niche in the family room where I could keep an eye on the kids and surf the internet has now become the bane of my existence. It is no longer my chair. It is my child's portal into a bright new world full of wonderful shiny new things he has eyeballed for an eternity but until recently was unable to reach.
Every time, and I mean every single time without fail, I get up from the chair, he runs to it and climbs up and in a matter of seconds is on top of the computer desk, phone in hand, frantically pushing as many buttons as his pudgy little fingers can before I come running back to spoil the fun.
Can I tell you how much fun it is to either wheel my chair with me into the kitchen to refill my coffee, or better yet wheel it out into the hallway and put up the baby gate, so I can unload the dishwasher?
Good times.
I let my guard down once and didn't secure the area before leaving to get dressed.
(and seeing as how I never go anywhere, we're talking jeans, t-shirt, and a ponytail. So 3 minutes tops?)
When I returned, I find the baby kneeling on the computer desk calling #9, various DVD's scattered on the ground and my 4 year old reaping the benefits of the treasures raining down and smearing my hand cream in his hair.

Im on my knees in front of the computer typing this, my chair sitting in its hallway prison, doing time for being just too damn convenient.
Good times I tell ya.

French Toast; turn left in 2.5 miles

I made French toast this morning. After I had a sizable stack on the plate, I began my race to get the kids set up with food and still have time to eat breakfast myself.
(if the timing is off, the baby is done eating just as I sit down and he wants out of the high chair, and then wants to hang on my arm and make it extremely difficult to finish my meal)
So Ive got one scarfing food in the high chair, and one sitting/standing/playing/dancing at the table next to me.
My oldest cant just sit and eat. I think its physically impossible for his little body to sit still long enough to eat a piece of French toast.
Thats one slice of bread.
After 10 minutes when everyone else is finished eating and he still has a whole piece of toast there, minus one pitiful nibble, I mumbled "Seriously. You cant sit and eat your breakfast? Do you have ADD?"
And he stops dancing, looks up at me and says, "No! Ive got GPS!"

Happy Easter!

In Dr. Evil's secret lair......

Okay, okay, settle down now. Can I have your attention please? Please, settle down. Can we get started now?
Ive called you all here this afternoon to-what is it? Yes, yes I know theres only one of you here. Just let me do this alright?
Ive called you all here today to discuss a new strategy to drive Mom crazy. It seems she is adapting to our current routine and we are no longer getting the desired results. Ive got a few-yes, what is it now?
No, you cant go-fine. Fine. Go poopoo. Hurry.
(waiting)
Ok, can I continue now?
Wait, you stink now. Go stand over there. Further. Over there! Thanks.
Where was I? Oh yes, we need to develop new ideas to annoy, enrage and ultimately conquer Mom. Any ideas?
Yes you. What have you got?
(listening)
Thats a wonderful idea! You cry every time she tries to set you down. No matter what. Cry. And whine. She loves the whining.
What I plan on doing is taking my incessant questions up a notch. Im going to ask her to look at my firetruck. Then Im going to ask her to look at it again. Then again. After that Im going to ask her if she can do this.
(twisting arms like a pretzel)
Then Im gonna ask her if she can do this next.
(sticking butt in the air)
Then when I see the vein in her forehead start to pulse, I'm going to ask her if she can look at me eighteen times and then when she glares at me I will ask her if she can do this.
(one leg up and winking and hopping)
Im going to need your help on this next part. While I am asking her these questions, is it possible for you to jump up and down and throw a fit because you cant open the top on a toy?
You can? Great.
Ok. This is good. Really good.
Yes? You want us to fight?
Awesome. I think she would really like that. I'll tell you what. Im going to get my toy train and leave it on the floor for 2 days and not play with it. Then you come in and pick it up and I will jump up and snatch it from you and say I was playing with it. Then you cry and I will growl at you, alright?
Okay then, I think we've got a great start here. Lets get this plan in motion. Mom is going to love this. Do me a favor and get the meeting minutes on my bunk bed ASAP. Thanks. Meeting adjourned.

A Real Happy Meal

We got brave today and decided to take the kids out to eat. And not to one of those places with plastic benches, obnoxious music and seizure inducing wild print carpet meant to hide vomit and their own set of health codes that allow them to operate with high levels of fecal and bacterial contamination.

No, an actual restaurant.

And considering all I had for entertainment for them was a box of chalk and one plastic phone, they did extremely well. We did not one time call attention to ourselves or have to run to the bathroom to hide, clean or cry.

Oh, and I got to drink an alcoholic beverage, which of course makes any outing with the kids that more enjoyable.

Pecker

This afternoon I took the boys to the duck pond so they could feed the ducks.
(And get jumped by the aggressive geese and mugged by the seagulls.)
When we were done we were walking over to the park to play and we spotted a bird sitting on the edge of the pond. He asked me if the bird was a woodpecker.
"It could be a woodpecker, I'm not sure."
"I think it IS a woodpecker. Is its beak long?"
"Well, it looks kind of long."
"Is its beak sharp?"
"It does look pretty sharp. I think it would hurt if it pecked you."
"I think it is a woodpecker then. But I'm not wood. My tummy is all soft, so it wouldn't peck me. Its not a soft tummy pecker."
I love how this kid thinks.

Fool

"Look! The light bulbs burned out! They are black! And orange!! LOOK! Haha! I April fooled you!"
"I'm gonna April fool you again! Mom! Look at my banana! Its all waggly and orange!"
"Mom! Theres a spider on your head! LOOK YOU HAVE A BUG ON YOUR HEAD! Haha! April fooled ya!"
"Ooh, the slide is pink!"
"Look, you're standing on a pink floor! April Fooled ya!"
"Look Mom! You have a fly on your head, its eating your head! April fooled you again!"
"Mom! MOM! Im going to fool you again!! Look you have a spatula on your head! Its cooking eggs on your head! On a hot stove!! LOOK! Fooled you!!"

Ahh.... Its been a fun day of clever trickery.

Small Bites

I think I could strip the room of all the pictures and toys. Rip up the carpets so its a bare floor and pad the walls to block out any noise. I could take every single solitary thing out of the room, strip my son down to his birthday suit and put him in there with nothing. Nothing but his lunch.
On the floor.
Not even on a plate, just on the bare ground.
With no napkin.
Void of any and all distraction. Just him and a grilled cheese sandwich.
Alone.
And it would still take him an hour to eat it.

Blue in the Face. And Hands.

You wanna know something 4 year olds are good at?
Peeing and not flushing.
Ive told him time and time again. "Flush the toilet. Wash your hands. Flush the toilet. Wash your hands. Close the bathroom door so your brother doesn't get in there. Flush the toilet. FLUSHTHETOILETFLUSHTHETOILETFLUSHTHETOILETFLUSHTHETOILET"
You wanna know something 1 year olds are good at?
Knowing that 4 year olds don't listen very well and sensing the exact moment when a bathroom door is left open and creeping down the hallway and having fun dipping wads of toilet paper into the toilet bowl.

Whats the Road to Hell Paved With?

As I type this, my 4 year old is trapped in the garage like a caged monkey whose been given a shot of espresso and my 1 year old is running laps up and down the hallway with a pizza crust in hand. How did it get to this? Lets go back to 45 minutes ago.....
My 4 year old asked if he could paint. He hasn't painted in a long time and I like to encourage these types of activities.
"Sure!" I said. No biggie, right? I can entertain the 1 year old while he paints a couple of pictures.
Yeah....that road to hell.....is about to get resurfaced.
So I set him up with his paints in the garage and I get out some toys for the baby. He is just excited to get to play in the garage. All is well.
For 10 minutes.
Soon the luster of a new activity wears off for both kids. The 1 year old starts to get bored with the toys are starts to wander. He sticks his finger in the paint. This sets off the 4 year old. I clean him up and get him distracted again. Then he goes in the house. I chase him. 4 year old stops painting and is running in circles in the garage. I remind him why he is out there and get the baby back with us.
Baby wanders back in the house and climbs up to the kitchen table and helps himself to his brothers left over pizza crust and goes back into the garage. Painting has again stopped and now someone is letting the dog lick the pizza crust. I break up the dog/pizza/baby kiss fest and redirect the little artist back to his masterpiece. I foolishly turn my back and find said pizza crust now being used as a knocker on the garage door.
Paints are abandoned yet again and now both kids are running in circles.
I asked if we are done with this activity and for the fifth time painting ensues.
As I chase one kid who's now heading down the hallway pushing a kitchen chair, I hear my son yell out that "some paint accidentally jumped out of the cup and got up there."
This is when I put the baby gate up and locked one child in the garage and the other in the house, and sat down on the chair that my youngest just took for a joyride.
By the way, Im pretty that painting that looks like one of the creatures from an episode of Scooby Doo, is actually me. And I think its spot on.