The Ultimate Frozen Fan

Bennett woke up from nap today royally pissed.

Pissed at me, at his snack, and at the world in general. He was SO disgusted by the peanut butter toast he had asked me to make, that he defiantly trundled his little butt over to the freezer and started digging around for something new.

After vetoing his choices of frozen shrimp and a bag of peas, I decided not to chase him when he snatched the box of frozen waffles and ran. 

In my perpetual pursuit of Parent Of The Year (POTY), I also didn't intercede when he triumphantly dug a frozen waffle out of the box and took a huge bite out of it. 

With my superior intellect and years of experience, I was fully confident that there was no way in hell he would eat a frozen frozen waffle. 

I was wrong. 

In fact, were it not his occasional shiver, I might have even forgotten that the waffle was still frozen solid. 

Not only did he eat the whole thing, but he did so with a triumphantly disdainful scowl on his face the entire time. 

Consider me officially schooled. Nothing trumps a toddler's determination, especially when they are doing something misguided which you *might* disapprove of. 

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Not So Little Shit

You ever try something, and no matter how hard you work at it, you just suck ass? I mean REALLY suck ass?

Yeah, well my something like that is parenting. No matter what I do or how hard I work at it, my kids continue to hand me my ass. 


Take today for example.

See, Sterling screws around with her bathroom every day. At this point, she has completely disassembled two toilet seats, unhooked and destroyed the sink pluming, taken apart the faucet, and repeatedly flooded the bathroom. 

In an attempt to stop the destruction of her bathroom, I threatened her before nap today that that if she did it again, I would lock her bathroom door so she couldn't get in. 

And over nap, she flooded the bathroom. Again. 

So all afternoon, I warned her that she needed to get herself empty before bed because she would have access to the bathroom tonight. 

I repeatedly took her to the toilet and asked her to go. 

I repeatedly reminded her that she wouldn't have access to the bathroom over night.

And at bedtime, I gave her one last opportunity to go to the bathroom. 

Want to guess what she did less than 20 minutes after she was put down for bed? If you guessed that she shit on one of her toys, then wiped it all over her bed and walls, you win!!!! 

I'm not sure what you win exactly, but it should probably entail you buying me lots of drinks and then driving me home...

So yeah, I suck at motherhood. And choosing punishments. But primarily motherhood. 

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Lotion Lunatic

Sweet holy mercy mother of pearl!

I swear by all that is precious, they're trying to break me.

On Friday I had neck surgery to try to get rid of the headaches still happening from the accident a year ago. You'd think my kids would want to take it easy on me, right? Right?!?

You would be wrong.

My kids spent the last two days hanging from my neck and leaping on my back from as far away as possible. I seriously feel like some kind of human ring-toss game. 

So when Sterling had school this morning, I looked forward to a little recovery time. Instead, she proceeded to hand me my ass in the hour after she came home. And not to be left out of the party, Bennett ramped his game up too.

So when nap time rolled around, the angels were singing.

As I skipped to the laundry room for clean jammies, I gratefully heard little feet tromping upstairs and mentally patted myself on the back. For once, I wouldn't have to finagle a way to lure them upstairs.

My back patting was premature. 

Shocker, I know.  

Yep. I should have known something was up when I didn't hear any giggling as I walked up the stairs. Somehow though, I missed the clue of ominous silence. 

Thus, I was COMPLETELY taken off guard when I walked into Bennett's room and found this. 

Homegirl had climbed up into his changing table, stripped down naked, and proceeded to empty a bottle of EXTREMELY expensive, organic, locally sourced baby cream that I got for Bennett's sensitive skin. 

The little wench had it smeared all over her body, on the walls, along the changing pad, on her stuffed animals and had rained squirts down onto the carpet. 

When she saw me, she gleefully announced "See momma, I got lotion!"  Uh, no shit kid. I couldn't help but notice, thanks. 

So yeah, rather than spending the next 20 minutes on my back with an ice pack on my neck like I should had, instead I was busy scrubbing essential oil lotion off of the floor. 


Dancing With Myself... In The Almond Milk

Ah yes, nothing like the sweet sound of "uh oh Momma, you got mess" to warm a mom's heart... or at least get her blood boiling. 

Last night, I was moving laundry from the washer into the dryer. Which means that although my kids were with me, they were not the sole focus of my attention for THREEFRIGGINSECONDS. 

They were about two feet away from me, which evidently is close enough to lull me into a false sense of security, but NOT close enough to prevent mayhem. 

See, you walk through my pantry to get to the mudroom where the washer and dryer are. 

I was in the mudroom. The kids were in the pantry. 

Not a major cause for concern, Bennett loves to putter in the pantry. When he partially shut the door between us, I thought nothing of it. I could still clearly see his little blue jammie feet under the door, which meant he wasn't climbing the shelves. 

In my mind, that was the biggest risk: him climbing up and falling off. 

I was wrong. 

A few seconds later, I heard the pitter patter of little feet dancing. Again, I thought nothing of it. 

It wasn't until I heard his muttered proclamation over MY mess that I suddenly got curious. 

When I peeked around the door, this is what I saw. 

The little bast... er, I mean BEAST had opened up a new carton of almond milk and was gleefully dancing in the growing puddle. 

And as I frantically scrambled to soak up the mess before it spread under the pantry shelves, he commenced to dancing in the mess again, splattering it all over me and the food on the lower shelves. 

Friggin. Awesome. 

He must have seen something scary in my eyes, because he took off running through my first floor, soggy little jammie feet leaving soggy little sticky almond milk footprints all over the place. 

Even. More. Friggin. Awesome. 

I finally wrangled him, stripped off the sticky jammies, mopped up the mess, and sat back with an exasperated sigh... just in time for Sterling to helpfully point out "Ben Ben makes messes, you need to watch him better". 

Grrrrrrrr, thanks kid. Thanks a whole hell of a lot. Next time, rather than watching while he makes said messes, you might want to stop him. Or at least let me know what's up. 

Just a thought. 

Messy Mayhem Monday

You ever have one of those days that makes you question every decision that got you to this point?

One of those days that you seriously consider chucking it all and running away from home?

Yep, I'm having one of those days right now.

It all started at about 6 a.m., two hours earlier than Bennett usually wakes up.

No worries, not the end of the world. But I knew that since he had woken up early, he would likely be grumpy today.

And he was.

I had a mountain of laundry to put away, so when we got Sterling up, I turned my back for three seconds while I filled her dresser drawers. Her dresser is still in her closet because she conducts holy mayhem on it, so yes, I had my back to the room.

But considering that I've been a parent for over 3 1/2 years, I also have senses that are hyper tuned to insane levels. So I thought that if Bennett or Sterling did anything naughty behind me, I would hear it.

I was wrong. Shocker, I know. 

Somehow, in the three seconds it took me to put away her pants, shirts and socks, Bennett opened the door to my bedroom, snagged my cell phone, crept downstairs to the mudroom and stashed it in a bag of things we were going to donate.

Sterling chatted pleasantly with me the entire time, so I'm guessing it was a team effort.

Once I realized it was missing, I turned to interrogation. Every time I asked Bennett where the phone was, he would cheerfully respond "phone go bye-bye". 

Then, when I went to find my iPad to locate the phone using Finder, the iPad was missing. One of our recent guests had helpfully relocated the iPad into the guest bedroom *cough* Nana and Pop Pop *cough*. 

I spent the entire morning tearing my house apart looking for either the phone, or the iPad. Finally John came home to help me find them, which was helpful because I was a *bit* frazzled.

After that, I was fully prepared to have an uneventful rest of the morning. Unfortunately, Bennett was not on board with that plan.

As I was preparing lunch, I heard a loud crash. I rushed into the dining room to discover he had pushed a large, rare heirloom begonia off of its perch and was dancing merrily around it yelling "boom". Then moment he saw me, he yelled "oh mama, oh no!" and ran as fast as his fat little legs would take him out of the room. 

Know what's awesome? About a gallon of damp potting soil ground into your white carpet by little dancing feet.


And Sterling spent the next 10 minutes helpfully pointing out my mess. 

I cleaned as much of it up as I could until the soil dries, when Bennett came trotting back in. 

He took one look at my work, wagged a finger at me and said "mess, no no no no no". 

I'm pretty certain today is officially Margarita Monday. Or Merlot Monday. Or Morgan Monday. I don't really give a shit what it is, as long as it helps me forget this morning…

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Super Hero? How About Super Turkey...

A few weeks ago, my kids got superhero capes as favors at a birthday party. 

Awesome, right?


Except Bennett doesn't yet realize that just because you have a cape, it does not make you an actual superhero…

He is already a master of the "screw with your older sister" art form. And usually he freely exercises his craft, within reasonable guidelines of course. 

But the moment homeboy slips on his cape? All reasonable sense of self preservation goes out the window. 

Suddenly, he is jacking with crap he KNOWS is going to send her straight into a flurry of rage. The sparkly pink tutu? Yep. The Hello Kitty backpack and it's collection of 14 ancillary purses? Why not! The "special" doll carriage and it's 4 babies? Hey man, go big or go home. 

Which means that my vigilance as a mom is being taxed to keep homeboy from being routinely clobbered for his unwise decisions. 

And it's not just in the sister arena that he feels the cape gives him special powers. 

Any time he has that puppy in his hand (yep, we take a loose stance on how exactly a super hero "wears" his cape), he does absurd things. Like jump off of the kitchen table. Or leap onto my back if I am walking down the stairs ahead of him. Or climb up the outside of the entryway stairwell. Or touch Momma's coffee. 

And I think we ALL know how poorly thought out that last choice is, you just don't jack with Momma's coffee. Unless you are fully prepared to deal with the repercussions. Which he never really is. 

But if nothing else, raising a boy helps me understand men a little better. 

It's not that they were dropped on their heads a few too many times as babies (in most cases). 

It's that somewhere along the way, they got their hands on a super hero cape... and never quite took it off. 

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The Frog And The Rat

Today, while I was making lunch for the kids, our cleaning lady Marisol let out a horrific screech. She was cleaning the balcony off of the kitchen and I looked out to see her dancing manically in a corner of the porch. 

I ran out to see what was up, and found that a little tree frog had scared the crap out of her. She hastily explained that she was terrified of frogs, so I scooped the terrified little guy, thinking it would be cool to show him off to the kids. 

Sterling had other ideas. Shrieking in a manner more than vaguely reminiscent of Marisol's battle cries, Sterling turned around and tried to climb Bennett. 

Bennett, seeing two ladies in distress, kicked into his manliest mode and started sobbing. 

I was the only one even remotely fascinated by our lovely little friend. 

I couldn't convince the little frog to climb back off of my hand into the trees off of the balcony, and it felt wrong to just fling him at them. So, trying to placate everyone, I took the little frog out to the front of the house and let him go.

I made sure he was well situated, then came back into the house. 

As I walked into the kitchen, I overheard Sterling helpfully explaining to Marisol "Sometimes my daddy is naked. It not good. Bennett has a penis too. They are boys. I have a 'gina. I a girl. Momma has boobs. And nipples."

Marisol nodded uncertainly at this, Sterling helpfully continued on. "Bennett a turkey boy. He so naughty. Momma is ornery. I not ornery. I cute."

Marisol smiled encouragingly, clearly hoping the conversation was taking a new route. But my girl wasn't done. "Momma poops in the potty. You poop in the potty Marisol?"

I could see poor Marisol literally struggling for the right response, and so I went to her rescue. 

"He is all taken care of Marisol, all good!" I cheerfully proclaimed. She looked at me in blank confusion, blinked a few times, then comprehension finally dawned on her. 

Yep, only my girl could come up with conversation subjects distracting enough to take Marisol's mind off of being attacked by a tree frog. 

Now I'm not *certain* Sterling planted the tree frog to have a few moments to rat out all our secrets to Marisol, but I wouldn't be surprised...

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The Day(s) The Monkeys Ran Away

My children have a charming and endearing habit as of late.

They run away. 

See, Sterling has gotten *just* tall enough to reach the deadbolt lock on our front door, and helpfully unlocks it for Bennett every chance she gets. 

And Bennett? Bennett is a runner. An incredibly fast one considering how short and stumpy his little legs are. 

I got all creative and found a way to secure the front door, so they then discovered the door off of the mudroom. 

Awesome part about that door? It's eerily quiet. It glides open and shut with hardly a noise. Which means I can't hear them making a break for it when I am emptying the dishwasher. Or filling the dishwasher. Or scrubbing peanut butter out of a pair of sandals. Or trying to get chocolate out of the carpet. Or... pretty much anytime I am even slightly occupied. 

Usually the only indicator I have is an ominous LACK of noise, followed by that sudden jarring realization that there is no slamming or crashing or screams. 

So yes, I have become an expert at the heart attack scramble, an undignified rush to the yard to figure out where their ornery little butts are TODAY. 

So far, the best adventure was the day that Bennett made it all the way to the stop sign about two blocks down the street, in his jammies. And I chased after him in what I later realized was an incredibly skimpy nightgown. 

Yep, pretty sure my neighbors love me...

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