Crazy Little Thing Called Love…

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!

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