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...

Hey man, show us some love and "Like" us at for Mayhem throughout the day!

And look REALLY cool by telling your friends about us!