Thursday, September 22, 2011


I'm pretty sure there's a rotting apple core somewhere in the TV room. I just don't have the energy to track it down right now.  It's been that kind of week. Again.

The kind of week where the kids go through about 15 cups a day. (Why do I even have this many cups for them?)

The kind of week where the kids are like marauding pirates pilfering the fridge several times a day. This is why there is a rotting apple core somewhere in my house.

The kind of week where the kids flit from one activity to the next before I can stop them. This is why there is glitter stuck to a grape juice stain on the floor. I've decided to just keep it there to add a little color to the kitchen. Incidentally, my son has taken to painting his cars with water colors, dot-dot markers and glitter.

Look, mom. It's a NASCAR sparkly.

The kind of week where everything I try to do with the older kids is disrupted by Owen, the 16-month-old gorilla, who gleefully scatters papers, eats crayons and slaps his siblings around.

The kind of week where my husband is greeted with what looks like a massacre on the patio: an upturned doll carriage, a baby doll face down and a kid's picnic table on its side. If I were him, I'd be afraid to walk in the house.

The kind of week where I dread feeding the baby because he makes such a mess. My daughter and I have this conversation several times a day now:

Mommy, Owen's making a mess.
Honey, Owen's always making a mess. 

It's like having a monkey at the table. He throws food, smashes it in his palms, smears it on the table, shakes his sippy cup onto his food. It's so disgusting.

And Danny continues to give me the third degree at the rate of about 30 questions per hour.

[Insert random Danny question here.]
I don't know, Danny.
No, no, TELL ME.
Do you know what "I don't know" means? It means the answer is not in my head and I can't make it come out of my mouth. 'kay?

This is now one of my standard responses. The other?

Asked and answered. Next. 

Fiona has a lot of trouble with following directions these days.

Geez. What part of "stay in bed" does she not understand? 
The stay in bed part. Oh. Thanks for clearing that up, dear.

In fact, once she just blatantly refused to obey.

Fiona, get out of the curtains. 
No. Oh, hell no she didn't. She was sent to her room.

Good night. Clean my room, Fiona tells me. What a little bitchooger.

Look, when I do this [lowers his head and crosses his eyes] there's two Josees. Huh? Since when does he call me Josee?

WE'RE ON THE HIGHWAY, Fiona screams. Every time we get on the highway. Every. Time.

WE'RE OFF THE HIGHWAY. Yep. Fiona, again. It's more than a little jarring.

Go put your cups in the kitchen. Fiona hands me her cup.
I am not the kitchen. Go put your cups in the kitchen.

I read words now, Danny squealed after I talked him through reading the words on his fruit snack bag.

Have a great weekend, everybody.

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