Overheard

It's been an entire month since I've written anything on this blog. I'm in a rut. Things aren't as funny as they used to be. After an entire month of the stomach virus ripping through our house and, um, intensive behavior modification, my brain is just numb. And I've had near constant back pain for about two weeks. Life is a bit more stressful here lately.

My oldest is about to start kindergarten. It feels like we're in a race against the calendar to get him to a point where his behavior won't mortally embarrass us or get him kicked out of school. A dozen times a day, his behavior gives me visions of forced homeschooling.  I know, I know, it seems totally unreasonable. Who says that about their own child? When you're living three inches from your face, though, it's hard to see him whack his sister without believing that he'll do the same to random schoolmates. 

The middle child is actually responsible for instigating most of the drama around here. Every time I turn around she is intentionally needling someone.

The baby, who is actually a toddler going on NFL offensive lineman, whines constantly for food, randomly shouts, growls and roars at us, and tackles me, usually when I'm making dinner.    

The decibel level around here is unbearable. I may lose my hearing soon. Please, God, let me lose my hearing soon.

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Mom, does Daddy drive too fast?
No, honey.
Why do you drive too fast?
I don't. Anymore.

Is the man dying in there? Danny asks as we pass the funeral home.
No, honey, he's already dead.
Where is his body?
It's in a casket; that's a box that they put the body in.
Oh, so he's a treasure now.

Want fries? Owen asks me as he drives up on his big wheel.

Want boobyjuice, Owen tells me. When he starts using a first person pronoun, then I need to wean him.

Aaaahhhh. Boobyjuice good, he says. Yeah, I know it's creepy, but at least I'm getting some feedback.

What do you guys do after mommy and daddy go downstairs? I ask the kids during "cuddle time."
Play with my penis, Fiona cackles.

Look, mom, my boo boo doesn't hurt. See? You can touch and squish it, Fiona says.

This is curious up here, Danny says. We were at a restaurant sitting on the upper level.

Speaking of restaurants ...

We don't have to pay at Nana's restaustrant, Danny exclaims. (No, I did not misspell restaurant. That's how he says it.)

Danny, is your pull up wet? Jim asks when he finds Danny still awake and playing in his room.
Yeah, I'm a heavy sleeper, he replies. It may be time to yank the pull ups.

I don't like daddy, but I like you, Fiona tells me.
Oh, really? Why?
Well, I like daddy outside, but I like you inside. Well, that makes sense. I play with them more inside and daddy plays more with them outside.

The monsters up [in the vent] might get scissors and cut down my sign, Danny says. I made him a Do Not Enter sign to hang from his vent. Are there scissors up there, mom? I assured him there weren't.


When I'm big and jump off a chair, it will shake the whole house and the house will explode, Danny informs me. A lot of his thoughts these days end in explosions.

Fi and Danny don't wear diapers anymore, I tell Owen while changing his diaper one day.
Big boy, he replies.
Are you a big boy? 
Yes.
Do you want to use the potty?
No. Oh, well. I tried.