I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead…

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I can’t decide if my children are just this insane, or if they really don’t like me.  Maybe you can help me figure it out.  Here’s a glimpse into the last 12 hours of our lives…

12:17 am:  Finally get to go to bed as Mason has finally fallen asleep.  This of course, after nearly four hours of debacle.  Mason turns the t.v. on – I turn the t.v. off.  After the fifth time, I unplug the t.v. altogether.  Mason opens all the dresser drawers and pulls out the clothes.  I sit on the couch and pull my blanket over my head with a groan – this is why the kid has been living out of a laundry basket for the past few months.  Mason piles all of his toys on his bed, I take them off.  He turns the light on.  I turn the light off.  He turns the light on six more times, I tape the light off.  He screams until Kaleb wakes up, I give them both milk and go back to my Mason Monitor.  He runs out of milk and piles more toys on his bed.  I take the toys out of his bed.  He screams himself to sleep. I drag my weary behind to bed and immediately fall asleep.

3:22 am:  Milo starts growling.  I put a pillow over my head.  Milo growls louder.  I press down on the pillow.  Milo starts to bark.  I throw the pillow in some aimless bout of frustration.  Someone starts pounding on my bedroom door.  Milo barks more.  Kaleb starts yelling “Moooommmmmyyyy!”  Milo barks louder.  I cry a little inside and get out of bed.  Open the door, turn Kaleb around, and tell him to go back to bed.  I pat Milo on the head while calling him mean names in my head, and go back to sleep.

4:18 am:  Milo starts growling.  I hear shuffling feet.  My eyes snap open and my head begins the process of exploding.  The shuffling feet hesitate at my doorway.  Milo growls some more.  I tell Kaleb to go back to bed.  I hear shuffling feet head in the opposite direction.  I do not hear the gate.  Once more I drag myself out of bed and go to trace the shuffling feet.  Find the boy attached to the feet sitting on the couch with marker and a coloring book.  I take marker and tell the boy to go back to bed.  Follow the shuffling feet to his room, close the gate, and remind him that it is not time to wake up.  Go back to bed.

6:41 am:  Mason finds the loudest, most obnoxious toy in his room, and goes to town.  I groan.  Kaleb starts hollering to Mason from across the hallway. Mason hollers back.  I groan again.  Mason starts to beat on his gate with a matchbox car.  I quit.  Get up, get Mason, change Mason, go to coffee maker.  Make coffee.  Kaleb starts screaming that his Lego car is broken.  Well, fix it.  He insists that I fix it.  I inform him that I am not the one that built it – therefor, I don’t know how to fix it.  More screaming.  I go to start another load of laundry, and he starts to do a pee-pee dance.  I tell him to go potty, more screaming, but he goes.  I grab the laundry basket, and hear Kaleb screaming again.  This time about the potty being yucky.  I drop my laundry basket and head to the bathroom.  Sure enough, the potty is yucky – primarily because Kaleb doesn’t flush in the middle of the night.

Ugh.  I flush the toilet, only to watch the water level rise.  And rise.  And rise some more.  Now I’m thinking oh no.  Oh no oh no oh NO.  Poo water begins to spill on the floor.  I run for the plunger.  I come back with the plunger and find Mason playing in poo water.  NO!!  Clean Mason.  Gently put plunger in the toilet – as each little movement spills more water on the floor.  Begin plunging toilet, with one foot on the ground and one foot behind me keeping Mason at bay, while Kaleb continues to scream about his car.  Toilet begins to drain.  Flush toilet.  Sop up water on floor, go get toilet bowl cleaner and mop.  Clean toilet and floor, tell Kaleb he can go potty, head back to laundry.

Start to load washing machine, Kaleb starts screaming about the toilet water being blue.  Go flush the toilet so he can finally pee.  Come back to laundry.  Find Mason bent over the tree stand I forgot to clean out.  Filling matchbox cars full of sap water.  No!  Clean Mason, cars, and tree stand.  Finally load laundry.  Go find coffee – ice cold.  Put coffee in microwave, hear Kaleb screaming at Mason, find Mason running away from Kaleb with Kaleb’s lego motorcycle.  Take motorcycle, calm down Kaleb, distract Mason.  Get breakfast and milk for both boys.  Turn on the microwave, get coffee.  Feed dog, let dog out.  Clean up breakfast… and here I sit.

As I write this, it’s 9am.  Mason is emptying bins filled with cars, Milo is hiding at my feet, and Kaleb is playing with his Legos.  Peace.  For five minutes (I’m not delusioned enough to think this will last).  So again I ask – are they trying to make me crazy?  And how do you people sleep??

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You’re a Mean One… Ms. Grinch!

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It’s like Kaleb’s subconscious mind has an alarm that goes off whenever I’m in the bed by myself.  Then it rings the alarm at the a$$ crack of dawn, and he zombie walks his snoring, kicking, thrashing, singing sleeping-talking behind into bed with me.  This off course kick starts a bark-fest between Milo and Not Cat, and all I can do is pull the covers over my head and wish that I was dreaming.  You may be wondering who Not Cat is.  Her real name is Dakota.  She’s a little Pomeranian owned by some friends of ours.  Since the day he met her, Kaleb has been convinced that she is a cat.  He used to chase her around screaming for “CAT!!!!”, while everyone continuously informed him that she is Not a Cat.  Of course, it didn’t take long before Kaleb started calling her Not Cat.  Eventually he evolved to calling her Dakota Cat, and now he just calls her “Dakota, my best cat”.  She answers to all of these.  We just stick with Not Cat – the poor dog is going to have multiple personality disorder.    Now, Mason is also convinced she is a cat.  He chases her around the house, catches her, stick his face in her face and yells “MEOW!” every chance he gets.

Every Friday night the boys and I do Movie Night.  I pull out my Poppy’s old air popper, make a ton of popcorn, fill two old fashioned popcorn cups for the kids, and let them go to town with sprinkles and little candies.  Then I completely drench mine in butter and salt (heart attack in a bowl, I know), grab a bunch of napkins, and we head to the couch.  One of the best parts of this is the reaction I get from the boys when I turn the popper on.  No matter where in the house they are, or what they are doing, they will be by that popper in an instant clapping and cheering.  Mason yells “Ahcorn!  Ahcorn!”  and claps until I think his little hands will fall off.  Movie night is the longest period of time I can get the boys to actually sit still, and I love it.  We snuggle up on the couch with our blankies, turn on our movie, and spend two hours just being together.  It’s my absolute favorite night of the week.  So when my parents got me a 4 foot tall, old fashioned popcorn cart, I just about peed my pants I was so excited, and I could not wait to turn it on.

Of course, in order to be able to turn it on, there were a series of obstacles I had to overcome.  First, I had to put the thing together.  Handy Mandy I am not.  Give me a hot glue gun, or a staple gun and I’m your girl.  Anything else is basically just a disaster waiting to happen.  So when the Monsters go down for a nap, I spend the entire time putting together my new toy – and of course it couldn’t just go together easily.  Nor could the instructions be written for someone who reads ENGLISH – not techno-mechanical-geek.  Eventually I got it together, and ran directly into my next obstacle.  The place I wanted to put my new fancy smancy cart was currently occupied by the hutch filled with board games.  And the place where the hutch was supposed to go was occupied by toys organizers.  And the place where the toy organizers were supposed to be was occupied by a love seat.  And the place where the love seat was supposed to be was occupied by a Christmas tree.

So, down with the tree!  Kinda.  I had already pulled all the decorations and ornaments off the tree the night before, but of course, now the Monsters are awake, and while Kaleb is screaming at me because he doesn’t want the decorations down, Mason is running around me like he’s purposely trying to get me to trip and break my neck.  Loosen the tree stand, grab the tree, pull it out and set it down on a towel to soak up whatever moisture is on the bottom.  My phone picks this moment to ring, and Mason picks this as the first time ever to pick up my phone and try to hand it to me, instead of just throwing it on the floor.  When I don’t grab it (because I’m currently trying to get the tree out the door, while keeping the dogs in the door, and avoiding the arsenal being thrown at my head by my angry 5 year old), he starts screaming, and thrusting at me forcefully.  Now I realize if I don’t grab the thing from him, my phone is going to meet the sliding glass door, and it will not be a happy meeting.  I turn around, lean the tree on my back, bend over, snatch the phone from Mason, and miss the call anyway.

Get the tree outside with no more complications, save for a couple of issues tripping over the dogs Mason let outside.  Sweep and vacuum the fallen needles around a dancing Mason and a rolling-on-the-floor, pulling his hair out, still screaming Kaleb.  Which is pretty much pointless since they’re all sticking to him as he rolls around, but eventually I get it (after taking the vacuum to him a couple of times, which somehow ends the fit as well).  Move the love seat – which becomes more difficult by the moment as both kids and both dogs decide to climb aboard for the ride.  Start to drag the toy bin organizers, only to be tripped up by both Mason and the dogs enough times to run over my feet until they look like they got run over by a tractor-trailer.  By now I’m irritated (this is only made worse by the extreme bout of PMS I’m experiencing), but determined to play with my new toy, and I have pulled my hair enough to resemble the Bride of Frankenstein.

Kaleb resumes his “It’s still Christmas!” meltdown about the time I get to moving the hutch across the house, and tries to throw himself on top of the already insanely heavy piece of furniture.  I have now progressed from the Bride of Frankenstein to Freddy Krueger as the claws come out and “scary, hormonal, ‘you won’t like me when I’m angry'” mommy comes out to play.  Kaleb immediately backs away, and Mason starts laughing like the lunatic I’m beginning to feel like.  Finally the hutch is back where it belongs, but the living room is completely decimated by the nightmarish reorganization I have just completed.  Meaning I can’t even move the popcorn cart to the place I have painstakingly cleared for it.  Another hour of cleaning, while battling Monsters, meltdowns, and mutiny, and the popcorn cart is home.  Success!

Until I realize the power cord isn’t long enough to reach the outlet, and being three-pronged, I don’t have an extension cord I can use.  This is the point where I show Kaleb what a real meltdown looks like – jumping up and down, muttering insanely to myself, pulling on my hair, stomping my feet, and having an overall three-year old moment.  Finally, I just throw in the towel.  Make dinner, eat dinner, and move the cart to the kitchen where I fill the SOB full of popcorn and laugh with glee along with the kids.  Who promptly try to feed the popcorn to the dogs, rip apart the living room when I take the popcorn away, and end up in bed before the movie is half over.

Maybe today will be better… I’d even believe that, if it weren’t for the fact that the only decoration I’ve pulled down so far has been the Christmas tree, and I’ve got a whole house to pull apart.  I’d ask you to wish me luck, but considering Kaleb is currently 30 minutes into a giant meltdown over a paper train, I think it might be a waste of a wish.  So, I’m off to eat some Midol and brave the Monster Man’s wrath.

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Have a Holly Jolly Christmas…

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Merry Christmas Eve!  Okay, I apparently forgot to actually publish yesterday’s blog, so yep, I’m looking a bit silly, but it’s all good.

Today is Christmas Eve and I cannot wait for tomorrow!!  Mostly because I think we got the kids some super cool gifts, and I’m stoked at the idea that they might actually like one of them!  Also because it’s Christmas, and Christmas is my favorite day EVER!  Kaleb however, well…

He’s excited about Christmas – then he forgets Christmas and is mean, pushy, yelly (yeah, deal with the made up word), abrasive, and downright not good. Then I remind him that Santa is coming.  Then he tells me Santa is not coming for another three days.  I inform him that Christmas is, in fact, one day away – tomorrow.  To which he replied (the first time we had this talk) “GASP!  Oh no  Mommy we have to hurry!  We have to make the pies before Santa comes and it’s too late and it’s Christmas FOREVER!”  Now at this point, I’m not sure what he means by that.  Yes, we do have pies to make – but mostly because I’ve been dying to make pies with him since my Nana gave me the pie tins I used as a kid.  Christmas forever??  Well, I could see certain parts of that being awesome.  Then I think about my insanely unpleasant excursion to Walmart this morning, and think nooooo.  I’d end up hating shopping – and I love shopping (for anything but jeans).

We went shopping yesterday to get our last minute items (I don’t know why, but Mason is so much easier to shop for this year than Kaleb – and we needed to even them out).  Toys R Us wasn’t terrible – yeah, the place was a disaster, and a virtual mine field of shopping carts, but people were generally being pleasant, so it wasn’t awful.  Sam’s was much the same – though we did dawdle quite a bit.  We opted to put off Walmart until this morning seeing as how we only needed a few grocery items, and it was getting late.

The next thing I know, it’s 10pm and the boys’ Grandma called because she couldn’t find one of the gifts on Kaleb’s list – a really cool one at that!  So, a bit of Google and a few questions later and I’m on my way to Target.  Where I end up on my hands and knees, half inside the bottom shelf of a rack digging to get the very last one that some unfortunate soul tried to hide.  Mission accomplished and it’s home to build Mason’s super cool new Power Wheels.  Of course, every year one of my favorite traditions is watching Daddy put together whatever the “big” gift is – usually with a camera in one hand and a beer in the other.  This is largely because my “Man’s man” likes to skim the instructions (though 99% of the time he really does know what he’s doing – that’s why he is doing it and not me – I’d have sat there all night long scratching my head going whaaaaat?) – and it just so happens that each Christmas gift that requires building is always screwy in some way.

Take, for example, the fact that last year Daddy and Grandpa had to go back to the store many times because the bicycle they had gotten for Kaleb was a virtual disaster (halfway done building it, I ask where the seat is… and then we realize it didn’t come with a seat.  Seriously).  So this year’s problems were small – especially compared with Kaleb’s Jeep – that thing was a nightmare (again, for him, I’m really not much help in this department – I just do the shopping).  Two backward tires (don’t ask, but I’m still laughing to myself), and too many left over screws fulfilled my need for holiday entertainment!

Now, I’m off to give my walking disaster of a 5 year old acrylic paint so we can finish our ornaments, bake some pies, throw a going away party for Watson (our Elf), eat dinner, open Nana & Poppy’s presents, put out cookies, milk and carrots, and off to bed!  Of course, we still have to do, but the kids will be dreaming of… well, who knows what, as long as they’re asleep!

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Dogs of War…

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Merry Christmas Eve – Eve!  Yes, I’m that person.  It’s the one time of the year I’m pretty much guaranteed to be disturbingly chipper almost all of the time.

My dog has lost his mind.  He’s always been a bit absurdly protective when I’m in bed – but more or less he would just lay and his bed and growl when someone walked down the hallway.  Didn’t matter who it was or what time it was, he would just lay there and growl (no matter how many pillows I threw or soothing words I offered – depending on the time).  Now, right after I got him I became pregnant with Mason.  Which basically meant every time the dog got anywhere near my face I threw up.  So, my crazy, weird, needy little dog learned not to climb up on me.  So even though he has always followed me around like Peter Pan’s shadow, and he’ll snuggle up to me on the couch, he’s never been my lap dog.  Partly now because he’s fat (Mason has GOT to stop feeding him before he ends up with either diabetes or a heart attack), partly because he sheds like nothing I have ever seen, and partly because that’s just the way it’s always been.

A few months back I recognized that I had in a way neglected Milo in favor of the kids, and decided to fix it.  So I let him sit in my lap (the minute he licks my ear he’s gone) when we’re out on the porch, I make sure to pay a bit more attention to him when I come in the house and am greeting everyone, and so on.  Well now he’s just gone mental.  Every time someone walks into the bedroom and I’m in bed he acts like a lunatic.  It could be Kaleb, or his Daddy, hell, it could be The Ghost of Christmas Past and he’d still go ape s**t.  Even though he knows who it is, even when I’m telling him to give it a rest or other such things, he goes all Cujo on me.  His big dog complex was bad enough before, I shouldn’t have made him my lap dog.

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Crazy Little Thing Called Love…

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I know that the boys have a secret bet between them to see how far they can push me before I end up in the loony bin.  It’s not as secret as they think it is.  I see the devilish twinkle in the eye when dinner gets dumped in the dog’s water bowl; I recognize the crazy that calls to me when I give an order and find myself being laughed at wildly while simultaneously being ignored.  I have resigned myself to a lifetime of their crazy little attempts to get me in a nice white jacket.  However, in the midst of all this, I’m fairly certain they’re just straight up trying to give their father a stroke.  Here’s the difference between how they act for each of us separately…

Mommy

I’ve finished making the boys dinner, and sit them down to eat.  Meanwhile, I have a phone call to make, and I have to make dinner for us (we can’t eat with the kids – it’s a catastrophe every time).  In the course of my fifteen minute phone call, while my hands are covered in pizza dough and cheese, the chaos that ensued would have been comical if it weren’t happening to me.  Mason gets up from the table – Kaleb screams at him.  Mason moves the table, Kaleb screams at him.  Mason takes his plate of food and dumps it in the dog’s water bowl, laughing all the while.  Kaleb and I both scream at him, I remove the dog’s bowl, empty it, clean it, dry it, refill it, put it back.  Mason drives two buses and a matchbox car through ranch dressing.  I remove the cars, put them in the sink, clean his hands, and scold (all while still on the phone and covered in pizza dough).  Mason starts finger painting in ranch dressing, realizes I’ve spotted him and am coming for him, and takes off to try and paint the couch before he is cleaned.  I catch him just in time… just in time for Kaleb to start losing his mind because he’s just now realized that since Mason dumped his dinner in Milo’s dish the only ranch dressing he has access to is Kaleb’s… overall it’s a disaster.  Yell for help before ranch fingers can smear his masterpiece on my clothes and Kaleb goes Hulk and upends everything in the kitchen.  And now you’ve gotten a preview of what it’s like when the Monsters eat dinner, one of these days I’ll tell you about the adventures we encounter while actually cooking dinner.

So, eventually we did get to eat dinner, I managed to escape without getting pizza dough, cheese, or ranch on my clothes, and the kids started screaming that they were hungry as soon as the kitchen was picked up.  Now, here’s why I think they’re trying to give Daddy a stroke…

Daddy

On an average day, the kids manage to break at least one thing.  On top of their natural magnetism to disaster, Daddy generally has a “to do” list for himself a mile and a half long (seriously, it’s like the sprinklers are always broken).  This usually is a mix between things he wants/needs done, my “honey do” list, and the kids’ broken, ripped, torn, stepped on, snapped off mess of toys.  Even when he’s sick the poor guy can’t get a break.  You may recall from last week that the toilet in our bathroom got clogged.  You may also recall me mentioning not once but twice this week that I caught Mason dumping matchbox cars down the toilet in the boys’ bathroom.  Well, now it’s got the clog from hell.  I mean, really, like break two “professional grade” toilet snakes clogged.  We don’t know what is clogging it.  If it was a matchbox car, how the hell did it get that far into the drain?  If it’s not, what else could it be??  So, Kaleb goes to the bathroom last night and starts yelling that he’s out of “bums” (evidently this is now what we call toilet paper).  Todd goes to help him out, and realizes the toilet is overflowing.  And of course, it doesn’t help that once a day Kaleb just dropped a monster in the toilet (too much info?  oh well).  So, I’m in the kitchen making dinner and the next thing I know, I hear splashing, yelling, a bit of mostly kid friendly cursing, and I’m thinking Oooh there is no way I’m going anywhere near whatever that is.

After doing whatever it is that he’s doing to try and unclog the toilet, he manages to break the snake he just bought last week for our toilet (Daddy’s potty tool!).  So now he’s got to go to Lowes and get another, bigger one.  Kaleb pitches a fit, because he wants to go to, and he wants to get something to build.  However, Kaleb will not, under any circumstance, use our toilet.  He will only use his toilet.  Getting him to go to the bathroom in a new place is a 20 minute affair, and when we’re talking public places, forget about it.  Those aren’t “safe potties”.  Last year after he potty trained he went the last four months of school without peeing at all while at school.  He’d hold it till he got home.  Anyway, Daddy really needs to get in and out so he can fix the toilet, or Kaleb will not pee.  Doesn’t matter how bad he has to go, he won’t go.  And it’s bedtime, so this needs to get fixed and quick.  While he’s gone Kaleb and I plug in all the Christmas lights and light all the candles – about which Kaleb remarks “Gasp!  Mommy!  The fire dances!”  and I quickly think oh now, please don’t become engrossed in fire.  I really don’t want the house to burn down.  Please!  Daddy comes home from the store with a new snake and we make our back to the bathroom to help/watch.  It’s getting late, so I ask Kaleb what he wants to watch (he gets t.v. on non-school nights), and I got set up his t.v. for him.  I go back to the bathroom, and Kaleb comes back down the hallway, says something about something not working, but I’m not paying attention.  A few minutes later he says it again, and this time I’m listening, but I can’t quite catch what he said.  The third time he walked into the bathroom and yelled “That fricking thing is not working!”  Daddy and I both stop dead in our tracks and look at him.  Before I can register what happened, Daddy asks him to repeat what he said to make sure we heard correctly, and Kaleb takes off to bed.  I go hot on his heels and explain that that is not a word he is allowed to use until he is 18 and bigger than Mommy (which will probably be in two years, so I have to throw the age in there for good measure).  We make this a rule, and that is that.

Meanwhile, Daddy breaks the new snake.  Eventually he did manage to get it unclogged (we think).  Of course, by that time Mason is in bed, with a doll house, a dinosaur that bounces balls, and who knows what else.  The clearing of the bed becomes a scream fest, again.  The night before Daddy was up until after midnight trying to get the little Monster to sleep.  The kid refuses to sleep at night.

So, basically, the kids are trying to send him to the hospital, and me to the psych ward.  It’s probably working.  But they sure are cute when they wanna be.  Mostly.

Pirate Party!

Make some noise…

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Every time I see the tragedy that occurred in Newtown, CT associated with autism I feel sick to my stomach.  I have heard over the past two days so many misconceptions and false truths that I am shocked.  And here I thought we were making progress on the autism awareness front.  The most common thing I have heard is the discussion regarding ‘violent outbursts’ and autism.

These ‘violent outbursts’, or meltdowns as we call them, are not (at least in my experience) something an autistic child can control.  When the brain becomes too overloaded with sensory input it goes into self-preservation mode.  My son for instance – when the input becomes too much, when there is too much competing noise; or smells; or the instructions we are giving him go against what his brain says to do; a meltdown occurs.  Sometimes he just drops on the floor like a sack of flour and refuses to move, sometimes he reacts more violently.

This is not his fault.  This is how he was made.  And he is beautiful for it, meltdowns and all.  The act of sickening, heartbreaking violence that occurred at that school will haunt us all forever.  But it was not an act to be associated with autism.  Whether the shooter was diagnosed or not – an act that heinous requires premeditation.  Simply acquiring the weapons was, in itself, a form of premeditation.  A meltdown does not cause the person having it to have horrible thoughts, or premeditate unspeakable tragedies.  The parts of the mind that control that kind of logical, planned thought process (again, in my experience) are not functioning well enough to even consider that a possibility.

Watching my son have a meltdown is like watching a light switch get turned off.  The parts of him that I love the most, the most alive, beautiful, inspirational parts, are turned off, because he is too overloaded to handle them.  Once he is able to regain control of himself, one of two things most often occurs:  he starts crying, and apologizing profusely for anything he did because “I didn’t mean to do it, my heart is broken”; or he has no real cognitive awareness of what he has done, or why it was bad, and he moves on like nothing happened.

When your vivacious five year old pulls his shirt up, points to his chest, and says “Look mommy, my heart is broken”, how does your heart not break a little as well?  I know this world, this autism world.  I have been immersed in it’s culture, it’s dark alleys and bright streets for years.  Sometimes I have a map, and sometimes I wander around lost and looking for direction.  But it is the world my child lives in – so it is my world now too.

The horrible events that took place in Newtown, CT will scar our society forever.  Do not let it scar our autistic children too.  They have a difficult enough time getting the help and understanding they need and deserve as it is.  Do not stigmatize them.  Do not let the media stigmatize them.  It is our job to protect the innocent – and while we were not able to do that at the Sandy Hook Elementary School, we can surely try to protect our autistic community.

Please, do not let the ignorance of a few damage the lives of many.  Stand up, speak up, and make some noise for the Monsters, and all the other kids like them.

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Ode De Toilet

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I am stunned.  Horrified, mystified, proud, and simply stunned.

For the second time this week, Mason (who was playing quietly in his room) decided to play with his toys in the toilet.  More surprising (because it’s becoming less of a surprise every day) than my 2 year old’s obsessive penchant for playing in the potty, is Kaleb’s reaction.

Kaleb is a strict, insane rule-enforcer (however, apparently because he’s in charge of making sure everyone else follows the rules, he is immune to them).  For years we have been trying to make him understand that it isn’t his job to enforce the rules – it’s ours.  For years he’s been refusing to accept this.  As a result, every rule my crazy, curious 2 year old breaks creates complete chaos (check out my alliteration).  Mason so much as tapping a house in the Christmas village with a finger results in screaming, throwing, pushing, pulling, insane meltdowns.

So, For Kaleb to find Mason in their bathroom, splish-splashing around in the toilet, you would expect a catastrophe.  The last thing I expected was for him to actually tell me that Mason is doing something wrong without physically reacting himself.  But that’s what happened.  Kaleb rounded the corner to go to the bathroom, and found Mason elbow deep in potty water.  I hear a shriek.  A squeak.  A “MASON!”.  I’m already on my feet heading that way, thinking Mason broke into Kaleb’s room again and has demolished the train tracks.  Just as I hit the corner Kaleb comes running around it and starts yelling:

“Mommy!  Mason is putting all of his toys in the other potty!  He can’t play with toys in the potty!  Now I can’t go potty!  You have to get Daddy’s tool and fix it!  Fix it Mommy!”

Now, if Mason and my entire bathroom weren’t covered in toilet water, when he had me thinking he was still playing with his blocks, I would have laughed my ass off.  But, as it was, Mason and the entire bathroom were covered in toilet water… again.  Take the toys out of the toilet, wipe everything down with a towel, wipe everything down with clorox wipes, strip, dry, and redress Mason… Kaleb is able to pee, Mason is not allowed to leave my sight, and now I have to mop on “I refuse to do housework on weekends” Sunday.

Grrrr kid.  Just freaking Grrrr.