Friday, January 14, 2011


It's been a long, icy, napless week, full of late nights and all nighters and poop on the floor. I yelled a lot. And ate a lot of candy. And drank some Diet Coke. And treated myself to a McRib sandwich.

I thought that Monday was bad when Owie was up for 14 hours straight. No nap, morning or afternoon, and Captain No Nap went down an hour later than usual for the night. He's been declining naps all week. Right now, he looks like he's been smoking pot.

Then came an obscenely sleepless Wednesday night.

And Thursday night was the icing on the cake. Or should I say the poop on the floor. I like icing better and after what we found in Fiona's room, I felt like eating the rest of a canister of that vanilla icing in the fridge with a spoon. (I didn't, though.) After a few days of poop on the floor over the weekend, I convinced her to use the potty instead. She was doing great and so proud of herself. But Princess Poopy struck again. It's never good when you hear your husband upstairs running the washing machine and the bath tub simultaneously. I came up and he said, "I wouldn't go in there if I were you." We're renting a carpet cleaner this weekend.

As for Danny, the unrelenting question of the week from General Pester has been this:

Can we go to Marbles? Marbles is the most awesome kid museum I've ever been to. We only go on nights when the admission price is subsidized by Target or Chick-Fil-A. We're going on Jan. 25. I even let him put a sticker on the cool new calendar that my mom got me for Christmas.

I can't find it, mommy.
Did you look?
Well, there's your problem, son.

It's not TV time, honey.
Yeah, it's time to go to Marbles. 

I'm all out [of poop], he explains after a failed attempt at pooping.

OH. We just got to go to Marbles. Dude, you have just got to stop asking.

MEAN, Fiona shouts at Danny repeatedly after I ask her if Danny was being mean to her.

Look, the big hand is on the eight. It's time to go to Marbles. A clever, new tactic. Cute.

Get your head out of the toilet, child. It seems with every new trainee comes new restrictions I didn't even know needed to voiced.

It's after bath time. It's time to go to Marbles. Um, no. It's time to go to bed. 

She's vicious, I tell Jim, after seeing the latest bite mark Fiona has left on her big brother.
She's coming at me with a piece of raw spaghetti and she's gonna eat the evidence, Jim cries and runs away as Fiona darts up to him with her weapon of the hour. Fiona thinks this is hilarious.

We're going to see PopPop today.
And then we're going to Marbles? It is going to be so anti-climatic when we finally go.

I aimed my power picture at them, Danny says. He doesn't shoot guns; he just points a picture from a book or the DVD case at whatever is bothering him. Brilliant.

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