Sunday, May 29, 2011

Things I say too often

I find myself saying and asking the same things over and over again lately. I'm stuck in an endless loop of ...
I'm driving. Mommy can't get your cracker/monkey/sunglasses/piece of crap Happy Meal toy right now.

I'm driving. Mommy can't watch you lick your toe/pick your nose/tap your right ear right now. No matter how many times I say these two things, they still insist that I look or that I retrieve. And lately, Danny insists that I stop the car. Which prompts this response:

Mommy is not going to stop this car. Kind of the opposite of my mother's "I will stop this car right now." No blood, no stopping. That's the rule.

Who's in the bathroom? Dear God, please don't let it be the baby again. And can he please not be eating toilet paper like it was cotton candy and splashing the scrubby thing in the toilet (I use it so infrequently that I don't even know what it is called, people.) I miss the days when it was just my husband and I using the bathroom. Yes, I just said I liked it better when all of them were in diapers. At least then all the bodily waste was contained and my bathrooms were cleaner. 

What's in your mouth? This is the equivalent of saying "On your mark, get set, GO" to Owen who then sprints in the opposite direction and laughs.

Shut the door. We now have a colony of flies in our house and I'm sure that the electricity bill is going to be, oh, I don't know, maybe a thousand dollars this month.

Don't slam the door. Maybe I should have been more specific about the shutting of the door.

For the love of God, just don't touch the effing door anymore, okay?? At this point, I'm just pissed that I have to get up and slog through the cloud of flies now invading the house to shut the door and corral the kids.

Your shirt/pants/underwear is on backward. They don't care. At all. In fact, Danny insists that he likes it that way or Fiona truly believes that it's supposed to be that way. 

Are you freaking kidding me? On a bad day, I say this at least a dozen times in response to Fiona's latest pantry massacre or Owen's inability to exist without some part of his body touching mine.

Get your hand out of my shirt. Okay, my baby, who is still nursing, likes to suck his thumb and fondle my boob at the same time. And I'm not the only one he does it, too. So far, he's fondled my husband, my mother and our neighbor.

Go to sleep. What I'm really saying is, "Where the hell is your off button?"

I smell poop. Who pooped? Lately, everything smells like poop. Even apples, for some reason.

Stop touching your penis. Now I have two boys to say this to. Sigh.

I am not your personal handkerchief. They literally go out of their way to wipe their noses on me. The baby once faked me out as I approached with a tissue and wiped his nose on my shoulder.

I'm apparently in a rut.

1 comment:

Carrie said...

I feel you and I only have one. I am just waiting for the day when Jacob looks at me and says "You are driving me nuts." Goodness knows I've said it enough times to him.