Friday, August 12, 2011


It is truly the dog days of August. Mommy is dog tired and the kids are dogging my every move, asking question after question or, in the baby's case, tackling my legs if I'm not paying enough attention to him.

Need proof that Mommy has finally lost it? Here you go:

Stop asking me questions, Danny. 
That's a question. Just talk to me. You know plenty of things to talk about. Right now, we're not having a conversation. I'm just telling you things. You're not contributing anything to this conversation. Got that, kid?

Oh, Danny, please stop talking to me, I whimpered one day while we were on our way to Nana's house to drop all three off.
No, you have to talk to me, mom. 
It's okay. We're approaching the drop zone, Jim said to me.

I think my biggest mistake this past week was just not having much of a plan. And lots of our friends were at the beach. And it was a million degrees. Again. It wasn't a total wash, though. In all our sponteneity, and by that I mean, mommy's desperation, we did come upon friends at our favorite park. They told us about another park with a lake and a boardwalk and animal feeding opportunities. So we wound up at Lake Lynn in Raleigh one day this week.

But the week has really been a blur of sweeping the floor a lot and gathering laundry that would spring up like mushrooms all over the house. Probably because of this:

My pants are wet. 
Did you pee your pants again?
Why are they wet?
My penis wet
Why is your penis wet? I regretted asking the second I said it.

I don't know. It's different, he shrugs.  

Tell Danny that Daddy was a NASCAR driver tonight, Jim tells Nana. We went on a date that didn't involve Chammp's or Starbuck's. We ate at and rode go-carts at Frankie's Fun Park last Friday. It's the first date we've had in a while that didn't feel like a weekend pass from prison.

I want my sister to be quiet, Danny wails.
Danny, honey, you are the only one making noise right now.

A light fixture, not a DVD.
Come see my poop, daddy, Fiona says.
I get to see your poop? Nice, Jim replies. Glad I'm not the only one invited into her poop loop.

Hey, why are there DVDs on the ceiling? Danny asks of our new light fixtures.

There's macaroni and cheese in my undies.

No, Owie, don't touch that, Jim says. Oh, wait, it's just a doorknob. Go ahead. No is an automatic response around here.

What are those white things under the road?
Do you mean the white marks on the road?
Those are dividing lines to tell cars to stay in their lanes.
No, I'm a NASCAR. I can't stay in my lane. Well, he has a point.

Incidentally, this week his NASCAR is going to help the police catch bad guys and it's also going to be his getaway car.

How many more years of this do we have? Jim asks.
I don't know, I reply wearily.
How old is the youngest NASCAR driver on the circuit? Seriously, people, how old? Anyone know?

I like you, Fiona said as she greeted Nurse Wanda at the doctor's office. Nurse Wanda was just tickled, especially since she's usually the one giving shots.

You're a stupendous book, Danny shouts at his father while they're playing in the pool. I'm not sure where he came up with that "insult." But Jim suggested to me later that he would, indeed, make a stupendous book and that I ought to get to writing it.

You're not even saying words. Why do just make noises? Jim asked Danny who was hooting at the table again.
It's what I do, he replied.

I tried it and I didn't like it. It was a disaster, Danny says of my dinner one night.

Danny, you have laundry to put away.
My sister can do it.

I thirsty, Fiona says.
Go get your water bottle on the table, I reply. I am NOT their personal assistant, dammit.
She then bends down to drink the dog's water and looks at me with that wicked twinkle in her eye. 
Hey, HEY, HEY. Don't drink the dog's water. 

You might be going too speedy, mom. I got a speeding ticket a few weeks ago with the kids in the car. He's not letting me forget. I think his father told him to keep an eye on me.

Have a good weekend!

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