Hell On Wheels

Long car trips with small children?

Mercilessly painful. We usually try to time them over nap time in hopes that the kids will sleep along the way.  

That's pretty much an empty hope, but we still shoot for that goal. 

Our 3 hour trip today? It's going something like this:

S: Momma, what you doing?

B: Momma Momma Momma Momma Momma

Me: Shhhhhh, it's nap time.

S: Daddy, what you doing?

B: Dada Dada Dada Dada

Me: Shhhhhh, it's nap time. 

S: Momma, what you doing?

B: Momma Momma Momma Momma Momma

Me: Shhhhhh. 

S: MOMMA, what you doing?

B: Momma Momma Momma Momma MOMMA!

Me: Shhhhhh. 

S: Momma, you sleepin? Huh, you sleepin? WHAT YOU DOIN MOMMA????

B: Momma Momma MOMMA MOMMA MOMMA MOMMA!!!

Me: *dead silence*

S: Momma, you hear me now? Daddy, what Momma doing?

B: Momma Momma Momma Momma Momma

J: Shhhhhh, Momma is trying to take a nap. 

S: Momma, what you doing? No nap! NOOOOOOOO, no nap!

B: Momma Momma Momma Momma Momma

Me: *pretending to snore*

S: Momma, WAKE UP! You wake now? We party!

B: MOMMA, GO NOW, MOMMA, MOMMA, MOMMA!!!

Me: I know! Let's play the quiet game. 

S: OK!

Me: OK, so here's how it goes. Whoever stops being quiet first, loses! so you have to be quiet to win, OK? Go!

*3 seconds lapse*

S: MOMMA, what you doing! You 'wake now???

B: MOMMA, MOMMA, MOMMA!!!

S: Are you drivin?

Me: No. I'm riding. 

S: Are you drivin?

Me: No. 

S: Are you drivin?

Me: You are driving me. 

S: Are you drivin?

Me: MAN, you are ornery!

S: I not on-rey, I funny!

Advantage: toddler. 

So much for "quiet time". 

Now, how long after you arrive at a family reunion can you declare "happy hour" without being judged??!

 

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Mastering The Art Of Mayhem

Right now, I feel as if Bennett is doing his best to totally eradicate any standards for naughty that his sister Sterling ever set.

For example, B spends pretty much each and every play date abusing as many girls as he possibly can. Which is a lot. 

That picture above? Our good friend Liana. One of the sweetest, kindest, loviest little girls you will ever meet. So B decides to ride her like a pony while pulling her hair. Of course, right? How else would you treat a good friend!

And yes, Sterling was one that liked to take off running in public. B does that, but on a whole new level.

It seems as if any time we are out, I spend my entire time chasing after his incredibly fast little chunky butt as he gallops haphazardly away. 

And you would think that being in the safety of our home, it would help eliminate some of that issue. You would think. 

Actually, it does the exact opposite. It lulls me into a false sense of security. Over the last couple of days, Sterling has learned how to unlock our front door. Incredibly quietly, I might add.

The moment that door opens, B takes off like a thoroughbred out of the chute at a horserace. 

A little streak of blond hair and ornery giggles, he races as far as fast as he can from whoever's pursuing him.

Today it was my friends L and T who took turns chasing him. L caught him at the end of my street, which is quite a long run for a little turkey to take.

And it isn't just the parents who have been chasing him. We routinely employ the child labor of the older kids in the group to make certain we catch him. 

It's a group endeavor, which just makes him laugh that much harder. 

Yep. So far he is out mayheming the queen of the art form...

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Seriously Daddy, Are You Deaf???

I was luckily enough to overhear a lovely  father-son interaction the other night as John was putting Bennett to bed.

J: Night night buddy. 

B: Bye bye

J: Night night

B: Bye bye

J: N-Ight N-Ight 

B: Bye bye

J: Niiight Niiight 

B: Byyye Byyye 

J: No baby, listen. Niiiigghht Niiight. 

B: Byyyye Byyyye

J (starting to sound a little exasperated): Nnnnniiiiiiiigggghhhhttt Nnnnniiiiiiiigggghhhhttt 

B (sounding equally as exasperated): Bbbbbbyyyyeee Bbbbbbyyyyeee 

J: Niiight... Oh wait, are you saying Bye Bye?

I swear on all that is holy, I could hear Bennett roll his eyes from the other end of the house. 

B: BYE BYE!

If Bennett knew the word "moron", he likely would have used it. Our kids aren't ones to mince words. 

Consider daddy officially "schooled" :-)

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If I Drank Half As Often As I Talked About It, Crap Like This Would Be Funny

I know, I know, you are probably sick to DEATH of "Sterling tore apart her closet again" posts. 

And I say this because I am sick as hell of writing them!

But the less crap she has in her room, the more the mayhem escalates. 

Allow me to explain. You ever have one of those days where you just can't wait to get to the end? One of those days that tests your mettle as an adult?

You know the kind of day I'm talking about, one where you get in fights with people that you love, everything seems determined to piss you off, and it feels like you're constantly swimming upstream.

I had one of those today.

So when the kids finally went to bed, I sighed that universal "I survived it" sigh of relief... about 3 hours too early. 

My kids always go down fully awake, and then putter for a while until they fall sleep. So it's nothing it's new to hear Sterling chatting happily for a while.

What IS strange is to hear dead silence.

So when I heard exactly that tonight, I poked my head into her room in to inspect. 

And this is what I found.

All that furniture in the closet? That's stuffed in there because she's used it at some point to cause mayhem.

Now her room is a stripped bare toddler bunker. And her closet doors are firmly secured by a "child proof lock". I use the quote marks because Sterling regularly unlocks those damn doors. But usually I catch her before she has much time to do unholy mayhem. 

Usually.

Not tonight though, tonight she had a solid three hours to dump drawers, take stuff off of hangers, and make a general nuisance of herself.

When I opened the door and said "what the hell are you doing", she happily responded "I being naughty Momma. I love you."

Not only is the child diabolical, but she's also incredibly smart.

I spent the next 30 minutes cleaning up the mess while trying to breathe deep so that I wouldn't lose my shit all over the place. And she spent that 30 minutes being as cute as a child can be while concealing their devil horns.

And thus, I drink...

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My Own Personal Chuckie...

Wonder what this is? I mean besides the child of your nightmares.

This my friends is what happens when a little boy gets tall enough to reach far back on the counter, and his parents don't realize it yet. 

Yep. 

Lemme explain. 

Sterling was being her general naughty self, and I was trying to wrangle her. She ran into the office and scampered up onto my desk, I followed with my camera out.

About three shots into it I felt this incredibly painful poke at the back of my leg. I looked down, and this is what I saw.

Bennett. Casually brandishing one of the incredibly sharp Wusthof knives that we had left drying at the back of the counter.  Evidently they were overpoweringly enticing to  a miniature Norman Bates. 

And he didn't settle for the first one he came to, my friends. No, he went all the way to the very back in order to get the big one.

Somewhere in the process he cut himself on the left hand and as he strolled in, he dripped blood EVERYWHERE. On the carpet. Down the walls. Across the floors. Everywhere. 

It looked just as gory as you would imagine little, bloody baby handprints to look. 

And yes, I'm fully aware that should CPS happen to read this, there is no way in hell they would think we were fit parents. 

Yep. I'm officially the parent that other parents look at and instantly feel better about themselves. 

I know I've said it before, but this is just more proof that my kids have it in for me. Because I didn't miss the fact that rather than running to the opposite end of the house like he usually does when he's being naughty, this time he came straight for me with that thing ready for business. 

I may never sleep again…

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The Final Straw

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Holy crap! 

Perhaps you've read before about my daughter's bedtime antics. This is hardly the first time they've been an issue.

Or even the first time they've been dangerous. In fact, until today the only piece of furniture left in Sterling's room was her bed.

But today, homegirl took danger to a whole new level. And we officially moved her mattress to the floor. No more bed slides. No more bed mayhem (hopefully). No more using the bed for anything other than jumping and sleeping in. 

See, I was talking on the phone during nap time, blissfully unaware of the mayhem happening in her room.

Thank God John was home, otherwise the story could've turned out very differently.

Evidently, he heard muffled screams coming from her room. He went in there, and she had removed all the slats from under her bed and was trapped underneath both the mattress and the box springs when they fell down on top of her.

Thankfully, he was able to lift it off of her before anything happened, but it terrifies me to imagine how differently this could have turned out. 

And the awesome part? There was no remorse or concern in her face. She smiled happily at both of us and said "Hi! We snuggle now?"

Uh, no kid. We binge drink now. And try to forget how insane your versions of "fun" are. 

Oh yeah, and we officially finish turning your room into an anti-fun kid cell, because all that gorgeous antique furniture is officially off limits until you are old enough to lift it of of yourself when you get trapped under it...

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A DIFFERENT Kind Of Naughty Table Dancer

So lately, I've been noticing little footprints all over my dining room table. But until today, I had never caught anyone in the act of making them.

As I said, until today. 

I was busy trying to keep this little turkey from pulling apart the pantry when I realized the other little turkey was missing.

When I went looking for her, this is what I found in the dining room. 

My girl was gyrating wildly around table, singing Macklemore's "Thrift Shop" quietly to herself.

Yep. 

When she made it around to the near end of the table, she looked up, saw me and jumped about a mile. She then smiled brightly at me. 

"Oh, hi Momma. I'm not doing nothin'. Just dancin'. See? Lots of shiny things. So pretty!"

Oh sure kid, just dancing. On my dining room table. Not doing nothin'.

Let's just hope she gets the table dancing out of her system now, and finds OTHER ways to pay her way through med school...

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The Mayhem School Of Driving Excellence

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I have a confession to make. Lately, I've been driving around with a bad influence.

Some people call them a "back seat driver". I call her "someone who won't be allowed to get her license until she is 30". 

Allow me to explain. 

It all started one day when I pulled up to a light that had just turned red. As I slowed down, Sterling started yelling "GO momma, GOOOOOO!!!"  

And I have to be honest, for all of 3 seconds I was tempted to put that pedal to the metal and Thelma And Louise it right through the light. I was woman, hear me roar!

Then I remembered I was a responsible mom with my two children in the car. And that my "voice of  guidance" was a 2.5 year old that routinely ran her toy four wheeler off of the ledge in the basement. Hardly a reliable source of driving advice. 

So I decided instead to educate her on the appropriate rules of the road. For the next few months, I patiently reiterated what the stoplight colors meant every time she would shrilly shriek from the backseat. Now she helpfully offers "red means stop momma. GOOOOOOO!"

Evidently, it wasn't that she didn't understand the traffic rules, she just refused to accept that they pertained to us. 

After answering each "why" (over and over and over and over again) with an explanation that red lights meant everyone got their fair turn, the only progress we made was that I began to question the validity of the system. After all, when you are stuck at a red light with two screaming kids, one of which is insisting she needs to "pee potty", you begin to feel like you deserve an exemption. Or a Valium. Either one. 

So lately, when she started helpfully urging that I "drive faster", I again initially was tempted to take her prompting. But that was before I realized that she had zero income to pay any speeding tickets we might incur. 

And her demands to "go past that truck, right now" are equally as unhelpful. Especially on little twisty, turny little back roads. 

No, about the only decent driving advice Sterling ever gives is when she inspects my park job to helpfully point out "Uh oh Momma, oh no. That not good. You fix it?"

Which she does every time I park. Every Damn. Time. 

And while some may not be ideal park jobs, I challenge you to do any better with Chatty Cathy The Driving Instructor constantly commentating from the back seat. 

I mean seriously, does this person look like she has ANY business giving driving advice???

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Dancing In The Doritos

Sweet holy mercy mother of pearl, seems like anytime I assume things are cool for three seconds, my kids prove me wrong.

Today, I was cleaning up after feeding the kids lunch. 

I was busy wiping down the table when I heard the end mistakable shhhhhhh of crackers falling onto the floor.

Running across the kitchen, I found Bennett breakdancing through a litter of Doritos.

It appeared that he had used the broom handle to knock a bag that I knew for a fact had been out of his reach, over to the edge of the counter so that he could reach up and snag it. 

He had  dumped the bag everywhere, stuffed as many chips into his chubby little hands as he could, and started doing the breakdance of victory.

As soon as he saw me, he let out that ornery little belly laugh that he does. The one that makes his eyes dance merrily with glee, and makes his dimples come out. The one that makes it abundantly clear that this mayhem was not unintentional.

I snagged the broom and started cleaning up the mess, not thinking of the danger of an ornery little boy running around with Dorito hands.

I heard that telltale laugh again, and went into the dining room just in time to catch him rubbing his and all over the white silk curtains.

And thoroughly enjoying himself…

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Turd On The Loose

Today we went with friends to a puppet show. It sounds innocuous enough, but come on now, how well do you know us?

I should have known to pack up and head home when, as we were walking up to the building, Sterling stooped down to snag a "rock".

She kindly offered it to me, and I realized at that point that I need to have my children around dogs more often. Obviously.

Because nestled hopefully in her little hand was a fairly giant dog turd.

Of course, the moment I went to snatch it from her, she slammed her fist closed tightly around it.

Yay.

After finally convincing her to drop it, and discreetly dry heaving, I scrubbed her hand with a wipe. I'm sure that took care of it. Totally.

We made it to the theater, and spent 30 blissful minutes enjoying the puppet show.

I should have called it as a win there and left, but I didn't.

Nope. 

Instead I went with several of our buddies out to the playground. Which SEEMED like such a great idea. Unless you remember this post, in which case it was utter lunacy. 

When Bennett wasn't playing in the run off water next to the garbage cans...

...or happily sipping out of a DISGUSTING juice box he helpfully "unearthed"...

...or rounding up a lovely collection of treasures to proudly present to me...

...he was running off as quickly as his stubby little legs could go. 

Which is INCREDIBLY fast. As every friend that goes with us to a park quickly discovers.

I cannot begin to tell you the number of times that random people have said "wow, he's one speedy little guy", or "where are the parents of this little guy" as I race to catch up. 

There were four adults in our group today, and between the four of us, we *almost* kept him out of trouble.

Thankfully, the kids also pitched in to help wrangle my little tur... key. 

As my friend A commented, "I don't think the kids will be the only ones taking a nap today". Yep.

I may never leave the house again... without a kid leash. And a bucket of hand sanitizer. And a tranquilizer gun. 

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Single Ladies

On our way out to run errands, I heard an incredibly cute, incredibly off key voice screaming the lyrics to "Single Ladies" at the top of her lungs.

Thanks to the volume level of the singing, it was easy to find my girl tucked away in the first floor office. 

She had found an antique quill pen, and re-purposed it as a microphone. 

I can't help but love that about kids, their ability to re-imagine anything in their world to suit their needs. 

Want to perform on a stage? That office chair works just fine. 

Looking for an entourage of adoring fans? That pile of appreciative stuffed animals fits the bill. 

Want your little brother to disappear? That baseball bat... oh wait, that last one is literal. 

But you get my point. 

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Mood Swings: Party Of Two?

It's pretty freakin remarkable how quickly my kids can degrade from this:

Through this:

Until this:

Becomes this:

Like seriously, that entire sequence happened within about two minutes. 

Seriously. 

One moment they were giggling and hugging happily, rolling on the floor like two adorable little puppies. 

And then one of them happened to roll onto a spoon. Which immediately the other one wanted. And they were off, nipping and growling at one another, like hyenas fighting over a scrap.  

Talk about lovely memories. Mood swings, anyone?

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Battery Battering

So I have a confession to make: we have a lot of toys that are "broken" because the batteries have died.

The awesome part? All the freakasstastic disco music and flashing lights are in no way critical to the functioning of these toys.

Nope, I'm pretty confident that all that pandemonium only serves to drive parents crazy. I would not be surprised in the slightest if Fisher Price were secretly funded by the Liquor Association.

And those useless On/Off switches? As soon as you turn the damn toys off, your kids turn them right back on again. Those switches are useless.

No, if toy manufactures wanted to make power switches truly helpful, they would make them DNA coded to only work for parents.

But nope, they're generally big, brightly colored, and placed in a spot that's incredibly easy for little fingers to reach.

Which is why I'm generally appreciative of any toys that run out of juice.

The last few days of juice are full of bizarre bleeps and slo mo songs, but once they officially go dead, the silence is BLISSFUL. 

But unfortunately, Nana, Pop Pop and Daddy are all happy to be on the battery replacement bandwagon.

Which means nothing stays dead for very long.

Yay?

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Hell At The Playground: The Story Of Why I'm Becoming Agoraphobic...

Know what that picture there is? No? Don't worry, I'll tell you, but first lemme give you the back story.

See, now that its summer break, I do everything I possibly can to get the kids out of the house on a regular basis.

Today we met up with a bunch of friends for "open play" at a local community center. Tons of toys, lots of kids, great moms for me to have fun with... and my children were miserable. After what felt like an eternity of whining and temper tantrums, my friend A and I decided to take our kids outside to the playground for a change of scenery. 

The weather was gorgeous, the playground was incredible, and it seemed like the perfect solution to grumpy kids.

It was, but not in a good way…

On the walk out to the playground, we herded the kids like overgrown, hairless cats. Bennett took every opportunity he could  to lead the pack astray, while Sterling found herself a pen to write on her dress with, and some pre-chewed, completely melted gum to smear all over herself. I was doing my best to scrub it off when Bennett took off running in a completely different direction. 

Good times. 

We finally made it the half block to the playground, and that's when the REAL fun kicked in.

When Bennett wasn't screaming, he was picking up random pieces of trash (pictured above) and cramming them into his mouth. And this is only a small sampling because many of the pieces made it into the trash can rather than into my purse. Why my purse? Because it was the closest handy spot I could think of to stash it all so he wouldn't chew on it again.

Why yes, that IS a used band aid. And yes, I did pry it out of his mouth. The great thing is that this was a relatively clean playground, I can't imagine what kind of fun we would've had at a grungier play space.  

Between his random munchings, he alternated wallowing in the mud puddles with sprints to the far reaches of the earth. 

And my friend A? She is about 8 months pregnant. Any idea how fun it is to watch a pregnant woman chase after a little blonde haired hellion? 

A is one of those effortlessly elegant women, so that made it even more comical. If A wasn't so awesome or if it hadn't been MY kid she was helping to wrangle, it would've been freaking hilarious. 

Instead, I felt like "that mom". And A? She is having her first boy. I could see in her eyes the barely concealed panic of "holy hell, is THIS what boys are about"? For her sake, I sincerely hope not...

So yeah, we may have a few more "play at home" days this week because they have officially broken me. I don't ever want to leave the house again. And yes, I'm aware that it's only Tuesday...

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Just Washin' Some Balls...

Know what's awesome?

When you have a TOTALLY juvenile sense of humor, and your kid is lovingly caring for her balls. 

Yep. 

This afternoon Sterling was toting around two soccer balls. When I looked over, she had them in the sink of her play kitchen. 

Me: Watcha doing there, sweetie?

S: I washin' my balls. 

Me: Oh yeah?

S: Yeah. They SOOOOO dirty.

Me: Huh. You don't say. 

S: And STINKY!

Me: No way! How do you fix that?

A: First I wash them. Then I rub them. 

Me: *snort* Yeah? How did they get so dirty?

S: They been in a scudgy box. 

Me: Oh! You don't say!

S: Yeah. I not gonna put them in there no more. It scudgy! And stinky!

When she brought over her toy bat and started washing it too, I pretty much lost it and just sat snickering like a 12 year old boy at a bra convention. 

Yep. I am THAT parent... 

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Did My Kid Just Order A Hit On Me???

As I was sitting there this morning, casually minding my own business, I happened to overhear this discussion:

Okay, you take care of her? Her name Caraline. She my momma. Jus let me know when you done. 

Holy hell, did my kid just order a hit on me?!?

What did I do to deserve that? Never mind, no need answer that one. 

But more importantly, where did she meet the imaginary people who could carry out such a thing? 

I'd have a hard time even knowing where to go to get my hands on some pot, but evidently she has MAJOR connections. 

I gotta rethink who we do play dates with...

In the meantime, I think I'm going to run out for donuts at lunch just to make certain I stay on her good side. 

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It's Probably Not Child Labor If It's Voluntary, Right?

What's this, you ask? Oh, not much. Just my usual excellence in parenting.

See, this is my most recent discovery. It's a beautiful way to occupy Sterling while Bennett finishes eating. 

Usually, she sits in her chair and whines incessantly until I let her down. 

I used to force her to sit there until all three of us were finished, which was punishment for ALL of us. 

Now, I give her the "super special big kid awesome clean up broom" and she commences to "cleanin". 

Hey man, when you're trying to sell a kid on the fun of cleaning, you need a flashy name to grab their attention. 

So far, her sweeping skills aren't stellar yet, but I think with some dedicated practice, we will get there. 

And I'm happy to let her practice for as long as it takes.

I'm about 90% certain it's not child labor if they do it voluntarily. OK, maybe it's more like 73%, but at least my floors are clean...

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