It is ONLY June 19th.
. . .and I have already reached that point in our summer where I am pretty much ready to put the two younger boys out in the backyard, leave out a bowl of water for them, and lock the back door.
Don't get me wrong. I LOVE these children. They are FANTASTIC!!!
. . .EXCEPT for those brief, several hours-long period during every day when they have to actually INTERACT with each other. Then everything just goes straight to hell in about 8 seconds.
. . . Padawan antagonizes Took (which he heartily denies. . . too bad I've seen it with my own eyes), plays games of keep-away with Took's prized possessions (Sheepie, Sheep-Turtle, Baby-Dog, and his Spiderman sunglasses), and Took has gotten into the habit of taking out his frustrations on his older brother in a physical manner.
. . .Mama won't let me paint right now?
Smack the crap out of Padawan.
. . .Mama says we can't go to the pool because it is lightning?
Kick a cat.
. . .Mama says you can't HAVE any more gummies right now?
Time to pick up the battle axe and prowl around for victims.
In addition to this, my youngest child seems to believe that I am not just here to "mommy" him and tend to his needs, but also to fill the role of maid, servant, juice-fetcher, and beck-and-call girl.
This makes me sad, because I can blame no one for it but myself.
And soon, Took is going to be pretty sad, too, because THAT shit ended YESTERDAY.
. . . It has taken me a while to get my head around it, but I finally have: I'm not doing my child any favors by waiting on him hand and foot. (This was NOT my intention, we SWEARS. He was just my only baby. And he was so LITTLE! And so CUTE!!! And so I helped him. TOO much. And that's over now.)
It started innocently enough: "Mama? Help me find my blue car?"
And so I did.
"Mama? Help me find my juice-y?"
And so I did.
. . . and NOW it has gotten to the point where, yesterday, Took was sitting on the couch and watching Bears. His juice cup was sitting on the coffee table, roughly 1 1/2 feet away.
"MAMAAAAAA!!!! I NEED MY JUICE-Y!!!!"
It was right in front of him, but sweet-precious-little-baby didn't want to have to get down and get it himself.
. . .
(This must be NIPPED, and with a quickness, before I end up raising a bright-purple ass-hat.)
The answer he gets is: "Find it yourself, baby. I didn't play with your car, YOU did. YOU find it."
(This is usually met with tears and complaints, immediately followed by a Time-Out, which is met with MORE tears and complaints.)
But this is just Phase One.
We are just about ready to enter Phase Two, which will entail the removal of gummy treats before nap time, a complete loss of night-night juice, and will be immediately followed by the brutal beheading of Caillou.
. . .even as I WRITE THIS, I am listening to the boys in the tub, taking swipes at each other, constantly complaining, and whining incessantly.
I hear: "STOP, Nolan! Don't DO that!!! STOP!!! DON'T DRINK THE BATH WATER!!!"
. . .
And I actually went in there and JUST SAID to my children:
"Hush. Both of you. You stop being bad, and YOU stop complaining and tattling. I do NOT CARE if he drinks the bathwater. It is gross, and we've told him that repeatedly. But is is NOT poisonous, so if he WANTS to drink the bathwater, THEN JUST LET HIM DRINK THE BATHWATER!!
UNLESS HE IS TRYING TO START A FIRE OR DRINK TOILET CLEANER, I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR ABOUT IT!!!"
. . .
So. There's THAT. =/
In my own defense. . .drinking bathwater will probably help him strengthen his immune system.
I'm sure it will be fine.
And today, before he leaves for home, we'll all go visit Daddy at work, and eat lunch in the cafeteria. (Which, personally, I am RATHER excited about, as they have GREAT food, and a HUGE variety. . . . Continuing evidence to support the notion that it doesn't take much to make me happy. . . .basically, just the promise of a good lunch.)
. . .
That doesn't bear contemplation right now.
We are participating in a neighborhood yard sale this weekend, and the boys have decided that they would like to man a lemonade stand (also for sale: MINI MUFFINS!!!) at the side of our driveway, in an effort to have fun and make monies.
They are PRETTY excited (as seen below).
(That last bit was Padawan's idea.)
So. . . what else?
uuuummmmmm. . .
So we got home from dinner, and it was getting late, so we started getting the two youngest boys ready for bed: teeth-brushing, night-night juice preparing, jammy-dressing.
(Just as a sidenote: I am a firm believer in makeup. I'm not saying I care if anyone else wears it, not at all. I'm just saying that I am vain, and getting older every day. And when my husband comes home from a day of work, and the house is a wreck, and the children are fighting, and the cats are hacking up hairballs, and I'm in a paint-stained old t-shirt. . . at LEAST I am (usually) wearing at least a little lip gloss or blush. Not JUST for him, but also because it makes me feel better about MYSELF.
Too true, Gran. Too true.)
I AM ALMOST 40. I HAVE LAUGH LINES, AND CELLULITE, AND I'M MAKING STRIDES WHERE I CAN, BUT I AM NO LONGER A SPRING CHICKEN!! SO WHY THE HELL AM I STILL HAVING TO DEAL WITH THINGS LIKE BREAKOUTS??????!!!??
My traditional evening Butterfinger.
(I have only JUST discovered that this is my favorite candy bar, and have been enjoying one every evening for the last several days. It has been delightful.)
The dad's voice was different.
They had. . . switched voice actors.
I HATE IT when shows do this!!!
I just HATE IT.
. . . It would be like if a main character was a blond, 8 year-old fairy princess, and then one day, BOOM. She was replaced with a drooling green space mutant, without ANY explanation at ALL.
DID YOU THINK WE WOULD NOT CARE???!!??
. . . wherever she may be, I just hope she is safe. And happy.