Overheard

The baby loses his mind whenever I put him down or leave the room. And he's kicked it up a notch physically. I expressed surprise a few weeks ago that he's not been much of a climber. This week he began furniture surfing and climbing up the ladder and going down the slide on his own.

The girl child shrieks like a pterodactyl. Even though she can talk as well as most 3 year olds I know.

The boy child runs around whooping like an Indian and agitating his sister. I'm about to just put them in a room together and let them fight to the death.


I have a perpetual headache. And a backache. And a recurring panic attack about what I'm going to do with these children all summer or, actually, for the foreseeable future since we're not going to preschool in the fall.



But at least it's been nice enough out to be outside most of the day. They're always better behaved when they're outside.

Anyhow, enjoy ...

Mom, where are you?
I'm upstairs with Fiona. 
Come down. 
I can't. I'm helping Fiona put a band-aid on her freckle. She's convinced that it is a cut. I'd do anything to keep her from uttering that awful pterodactyl sound.


MAMA WILL BE RIGHT BACK, OWIE, Fiona screams. I'm sure he felted super comforted.

Mom, look at me. 
I see. She was hiking up her skirt.
Look at me again. More skirt hiking. I just had a flashback to my teen years.

Get Owie away from me, Danny says.
I can't. He lives here.

I don't want any kids down here. 
Well, you're in the wrong house, Danny.

See, Fiona, I'm right here. You're not alone. You can talk to me, Danny tells his sister. We were trying to see if they could sleep in the same room. Ten minutes later, she hit him a few times.


I don't want Daddy to go to work today. 
Why not?
He can't go. 
Why not?
Oh, STOP saying why not?
Why?
STOP SAYING WHY. Payback is a bitch, ain't it kid? I swear that I wasn't doing it on purpose. Really.


Don't water me, Fiona tells her dad every time he gets the hose out.


It's a brinkler! Fiona declares. Actually, it's a sprinkler.


Mom, Fiona made a mess with the cookies. She'd pulled out the ginger snaps and when I found her sitting in the cabinet she smiled and said, 

Helloooooo! What a little b ... rat.



Ten minutes later ...


Mom, Fiona made a mess in the kitchen again.

Four pounds of corn flour all over the floor. I'm not even kidding. See?

And the aftermath ...

Don't sweep my arm, Fiona says. Oh, honey, on the list of things I'd like to do to you, sweeping the corn flour off your arms is not even close to the top.  


How are the kids? I ask my mother over the phone. She had them for a sleepover this week.
Your son just ate a tube of chapstick and your daughter has brushed her teeth with five different toothbrushes. And it was almost 9:00 p.m. Yep, that sounds about right.


And the funniest thing I heard all week ...


Crying and screaming kills unicorns, Jim told Fiona, who was starting the launch sequence for meltdown at dinner Thursday.
What's a unicorn? Danny asked.
You'd know if you stopped screaming and crying. They'd be running up and down the street. 


Have a safe and happy Memorial Day weekend.