Family Bonding is Distressing

They're so cute...

...like baby piranhas...

They're so dang lovable.

How can I possibly want to hide from them in the bathroom and eat pasta until I melt into a puddle of Melyssa and Gorgonzola?

That one at the top?  He is a puppy in striped pajamas.  He is wearing a leash.  He is eating cereal out of a bowl on the floor.  He just told me he's "Mindy from the network."  (Bolt).  He has all fifty states memorized.  This is not due to my spectacular parenting as I had to stop and think if there were indeed, fifty states.

The one in the middle photo keeps getting disqualified from her heats at swim meets.  She is rebellious and won't follow the rules.  I blame her dad.  She wouldn't sit still and listen to our family reading of The Hobbit.  She made dinner so we forgive her lack of family spirit.

The last one up there gives me anxiety attacks for the teenage years to come.  Her future husband must enjoy  being the steak to her mushrooms, for he will be smothered until he surrenders.  She insisted on unbuttered popcorn...yet will not learn to pop it...so she sits, dejected...like a wounded small elf...on the corner of the couch while we read The Hobbit...until she melts down the side of the couch like so much unwanted butter...and she pouts some more on the floor.

Excerpts of The Hobbit were peppered with the neurotic dog pacing...back and forth...back and forth...doggy toenails on a hardwood floor under vaulted ceilings...Mommy interrupting to say things like

Move that glass, it's going to get spilled.


Don't sit on the couch like that, it's not good for it.


Get your face out of the popcorn bowl.  Yes, I know you're a puppy but you can't put your face in the popcorn bowl.


I know he put his face in, I'm sitting right here!


Be careful of Daddy's stomach, he just had surgery.


Let go.


Be nice.


Shh.


Starving kids in China would LOVE to have Daddy read to them!!


The dishes are piling up...the laundry is too...we lost the car keys for Mike's car...I will have to drive him to work at zero-dark-thirty...bedtime can't come soon enough...

I am blessed.

Chores

I like chores.  Much more so now a days than back when I had to do them all.  I remember playing Cinderella with my sister when we had to clean the bathroom.  I remember washing dishes before, gasp, there were dishwashers.  Well, there probably were dishwashers, just not in our house.  We also had a party line, so maybe we were just behind the times...I remember listening in on strangers' conversations but they were so boring, it made the whole experience less than titillating.  Anyway, where was I going with this?  Right.  Chores. 


LOVE THEM.


My firstborn is mowing the lawn.

Actually, that makes me slightly nauseous. How can that sweet little bumpkin be old enough to push around heavy machinery?  What if she mows off her foot?  What if she gets trapped underneath the mower like Sissy Spacek in that Mel Gibson movie that took like, five years off my life and I watched through my trembling hands?  Ok, that was a tractor, but still.  What was the name of that movie anyway?  I'm emotionally exhausted just thinking about that.

The first person to tell me the name of that movie gets a kitchenaid mixer!

Not really.

Do I look like the Pioneer Woman?

But back to chores.  Anna is doing dishes and she is terrified of soggy food left in the bottom of the sink that some turkey dumped in there instead of the garbage.  You'd think it had the power to come to life and grab and pull her down the drain, or turn her hand into some slashed up shriveled crone's hand or something the way she is carrying on.


Gianni doesn't do many chores yet.  He mostly squishes frogs.  And gets stung by hornets.  I forgot to tell you all that one.  He got jumped by a swarm of yellow jacket thugs last week: two on his face right below his eye and one on his chubby little baby hand.  He swelled.  I grabbed the never used EpiPen Jr. and rushed to WalGreens to ask advice of the 13 year old Middle Eastern pharmacist who thought I was asking how much Bendryl to give him, not WILL BENADRYL SAVE MY POOKIE'S LIFE??? which was really what was I asking her.  Anyway, allergic to bees he is not.  But he did swell and could've used a Phantom of the Opera mask for a couple days.  He was Quasimodo-ish.


And while my children do chores, I relax and change the locks.  We even have teenagers now to take out the trash and mop and clean bathrooms.  Heck, I just made two batches of zucchini bread, one of banana, and one of banana chocolate chip, and do you think I shall be cleaning up the kitchen?  I think not.   I should probably take up soap opera watching and bon-bon eating. 




Mike and I are beginning to decide what to put in The Binder here at the group home.  Every house family gets to write their own binder with their particular rules.  The things are THICK.  Everything you could think of is in there, in writing.  That way, when things go amiss or the kids run all over you, you can yell, 'Knock that off!  It's in The Binder!'  We're constantly threatening to put all sorts of things in there, because once they're in there and written in stone, it's like gospel.  At least that's what we tell them.  I heartily recommended every one of you moms and dads get yourself a binder.  While I am some what limited in what I can put in there, due to pesky state laws, you could get away with all sorts of things.  Thou shalt not fart, is one that comes to mind.  Or:  the designated trash taker outer has better replace the trash bag or he/she is in danger of having their arms pulled off and beaten soundly about the head and shoulders with them.  Or:  all children must learn the art of cocktail making and serving.  All of these I alas, cannot put in my binder, but you're welcome for the ideas.  Kinda makes you want to have more kids, doesn't it?


On other notes, according to spell checker, 'could've' is not a word.  Huh?  Say what?  Have I been butchering the English language for years and not realizing it?  Me, who can't hardly use slang and abbreviations even in texting because it annoys my grammatically correct brain?  Have you EVER seen me use "LOL?"  No, and you never will.  Once in a while, if I'm texting while (confession time) driving, I will not correct a spelling error or I'll put "ur" instead of "your," or "thnx" instead of "thanks" but even that causes me to break out in hives and risk losing my life to rectify it.  Wouldn't is in the spell check.  Shouldn't is in there.  I'm is in there.  And what is it called when you shorten a word using an apostrophe anyway?  It's not a conjunction...what is it?  Just bad English?

The first person to tell me gets a Rolex.

Nah, not really.

It's Not-Back-To-School Week!

Hubby mine was very insulted by the photo of the cribbage board propping open the window, so here you go, honey bunny, a photo showing off just how great you are! This lasagne concoction weighed in at a whopping 23 pounds and you can prop my windows open with one of our own children if it means you'll cook me crazy amounts of ooey gooey cheese with tomato sauce!

All a guy needs: the remote control, a greasy snack, and no clothes to constrict ya while watching ESPN.

We started school yesterday, and if we could just graduate tomorrow I'm sure we'd end on a high note. Our typical school year starts out nicely scheduled (actually I prefer the word 'routine' as opposed to something that plans out every single minute of my day without room for error/parenthood) and when that routine stops working well, usually about 6 weeks down the road, we toss it out the window and fly by the seat of our pants for a bit, only to work out yet another routine to get us through the holidays. This is our first year trying to school with a toddler literally climbing the walls around us, and thank goodness the girls are very independent learners and understand when Mommy has to search the house for Sir Poops-A-Lot, who by the by, has learned to climb up on the changing table and perch precariously there by his toenails while he smears cocoa butter all over the curtains (be thankful it's cocoa butter and not what he was smearing yesterday). When he is not doing that he is stuffing treasures between the fire place and the wall, into the insulation where, you guessed it, we recently found "Snow Dogs." He is also capable of opening each of our three gates in the back yard and since he is OCD enough to shut nicely every door behind him, it's difficult to deduce which way the little guy went. So now two are bungee corded shut and one is tied with the dog leash, all to his frustration. His first sentence was, 'Mama rocks!' That's right, kid, and that's how we roll.

In addition to the kid's school work, we have instituted a new method of punishment 'round here: The Dreaded And Hideous Chore Jar. This is full of little folded up pieces of paper with all the yucky chores printed on them. After not doing something they know they are supposed to do they get the wonderful opportunity of drawing from this jar. In the past two days alone, Anna has washed, dried, folded and put away one load of laundry, dusted everything in the house that is made of wood and cleaned every baseboard. Cora has scrubbed the same toilet from top to bottom twice. Oddly enough, they're finding it fun. Each time they draw something I cross my fingers and toes and chant, 'get the Clean Up Dog Poop one!' But no luck so far. The jar is atop the fridge in case they get sneaky ideas of marking the easy ones. Please don't think I am being too hard on them, they get these chores for not doing the basics of Being a Kid 101. We're talking things like taking a shower and using up all the hot water but somehow "forgetting" or "not having enough time" to use any soap/shampoo. Or for having to be told 16 times a day for 9 years to brush your teeth. Or, and this is my personal favorite and source of all Mommy turning the Incredible Hulk in 3 seconds flat, putting your shoes in the vague vicinity of the shoe basket (which we have three of) and not actually in the shoe basket (which we have three of).

Still unsure of where we will be living come new year, so if any of you have basements and would like some company...you know where to find us. We will keep the cocoa butter smearing in a contained area and promise not to misplace any of your movie collection. Or spit too often in your toilet, which is another of Baron Twerpy Von Twerpenstein's little past times. Especially if he's just consumed ridiculous amounts of blueberries...although it does turn your commode a lovely shade of violet.