Pimp My Ride

I'm used to Lord WTF using biological weaponry in this war of ours, but seriously, my toothbrush?

So, the oldest boy asks me if he can wash his toy truck in my bathroom sink. I say sure, needed him distracted for a few while I handle the baby. I come back upstairs after a "capture the baby and wrangle a new diaper on him" battle. Faintly, I hear a slight vibrating noise. It's subtle and I, for the life of me, can't make out what it is.

As I walk into the bathroom, I see the boy using my electric toothbrush to detail his truck. He's got that sucker on high and is doing the rims, the grill, even the interior as if I don't have to put that thing in my mouth later.

I just didn't even know how to scold him and sent him downstairs to play. I'm getting a new toothbrush head tonight. Case closed.

Get bent

Church is an adventure every Sunday. It really is. It's a time for renewal and reflection as we give the first morning of the new week to the Lord. I mean, He does deserve the attention, much more than we show, but it also a time of testing for our children. How will they behave? Will they get along with other kids? Be polite? Tell someone when they need to use the bathroom?? For one hour a week, we put utter faith that all the teachable moments at home have stuck with them and they will shine for a little while in front of others.

Then there was last Sunday. As we are getting ready to take the kids to their classes, I'm helping Aaron put his shoes on. They get time on the indoor playground before class and I make them remove their shoes so they don't kick each other or someone else's kid in the face. Well, me being the princess of grace that I am, ended up knocking the boy to his arse when I tugged on his laces to tight and he fell back, off balance. He was mortified. So, I help him up, dust him off, and finish with the laces. As I'm gathering up the diaper bag and a gazillion other things that have to go with the kids to their classes, he proceeds to tug his pants down to show the world his bottom.

"You ruined my bottom," he practically hissed, showing me his now red from impact butt.

I could already feel the stares as parents filed passed. Eh, nothing new with our family.

"I'm sorry," I apologize through barely muffled giggles, pulling his pants back up. My lack of self control causes further humiliation for the boy.

"Mom, you are so bent," he growls.

Oh, if he only knew. :p

Weapons of choice

Oh, Lord WTF was in fine form this morning. Ever notice how so many of the greatest battles in our world's history began at dawn? Before the modern centuries when things like night vision goggles, even electric lights on a mobile scale came into use, armies would strike at first light. For either practicality or affect, it was cool.

Well, dawn served us an ass whuppin' today.

Since the time change, our children have decided that 5am is the hour of choice to rise and greet the day. Let's just say they hand the sun his morning cup of coffee when he rolls out of bed. What is worse, the 3 year-old gets up first. This a problem because he is at that age where he thinks he's as tall as his father and can fly like Superman. And when he thinks he can pour his own juice.

With his general and commander Lord WTF behind him, Samuel decided to get out the gallon, the new gallon of apple juice out and pour him a cold one. In what must have been a spectacular cascade of shimmering amber liquid, 3/4ths of the bottle dumped across a table, three chairs, a bench and a hardwood floor. Sadly, it sat there for a half hour before I made it downstairs so I could catch a shower.

"I'm sorry," was about as much as the husband could say before he flew out the door to the peace of his daily grind, a 'thank God it wasn't me' look covering his face.

Yeah, apple juice. A true Weapon of Mass Destruction.

When blue bears come knocking

Ah, it has been awhile since I've updated. Homeschooling has me busy, but I'm going to put forth a new effort to get my WTF moments out there. So, here we go.

This morning, well before dawn was creeping over the horizon, hubs and eye peeked our reluctant eyes open, becoming vaguely aware of a new day barreling down on us at warp speed. Things were quiet, but that lasted all of three minutes when we heard the kids starting to stir...loudly. Our marital affections had been on hiatus for more than a few days (a record for us), so with ginger footsteps, Hubs crept out of bed and shut our bedroom door. Click went the lock. A few moments of amorous affection began to ensue before the herd completely broke out of their pens and we would be, uh, interrupted yet again.

Fate hates us having sex. No sooner had the thought of even remotely thinking of doing such a thing with each other crossed our minds in mutual agreement when a loud rapping came at the door. "Mama...Daddy...you lock the door?"

Samuel. Sammy-boo, Samwise. He was up.

"Yes, I called out. We'll be out in just a minute." Sad to have to admit that our time together was probably going to be just that, but I would take anything at this point.

Silence on the other side of the door. He bought it!

*knock, Knock, KNOCK* "Mama, Daddy," he called again in such a sweet sing-song voice. "Blue Bear wants to see you!" Jeez, how do you even think about sex after that?

"Coming," I sighed while Steve grumbled all the way to the shower. Blue Bear was very pleased.

*and for my family who reads this, sorry for the subject and all, but this was seriously funny. so if my bros are wretching right about now....hahahahahahaha!

"Wait for it..."

I flicked on tennis today and my oldest son sat down to watch it. The kids are beginning to bud into sports nuts like their mom, but what floored me was how into the match he was. He kept track of score and seriously, when a serve was lobed over the net, he whispers..."wait for it..." to the returning player. I nearly choked. Kid already has an eye for the game and is giving tips. Armchair enthusiast! It's genetic.

Snow

Now this one happened a month ago, but I've been pinned down by sniper fire from lord WTF's minions. Thank goodness I move like a ninja.

Snow. The wonderful frozen stuff that falls from the heavens during winter. The stuff that should not even exist during the summer months unless Al Gore actually has some substance to his premonitions. So, my oldest boy decides to improvise.

Set the scene, Tommy trains laid out in intricate tracks. Gordon is doing his thing, but oh, does Mother Nature (aka Aaron in his little world) have something in store for him. Freak snowstorm in June! Tons of the powdery, and I do mean POWDERY, stuff thump onto his tender, halting rail traffic to a standstill. It's a white out!!

One month later and I'm still cleaning up an entire bottle of baby powder from all over the house. Talk about clogging the filter on the vacuum. :p

Girl shortage

I've often wondered about how our little girl will survive without another female influence other than myself in the house. Three brothers and a father just like them is going to be one hurdle after another for the rest of her life under our roof. We often seek out other neighborhood girls for her to play with and it has worked out so far.

Well, that was until yesterday. Samuel, the 2 year-old decided he wanted to be Cinderella after watching the movie, so he trekked upstairs and raided his sister's closet for her gown from Halloween. I figure what's the harm and doll him up in it. He's pleased. The girl decides she wants to join him as Sleeping Beauty and dashes upstairs to get her self purdiful, as she puts it and they both begin some sort of haphazard ballroom scene in the living room. It's quite precious.

The oldest boy comes upstairs and cracks up at his younger brother in a dress and goes upstairs in cackles. I figure he's going to go play trains or something, but no. He comes down in a fairy ballerina costume and begins to waltz with his sister. Something must have clicked with him that he was supposed to Prince Charming despite the drag outfit and began to chase he sis around the house with a shoe yelling, "Wait! Wait, don't go! What is your name?"

If my boys become drag queens, I'm blaming Disney.

Toothpaste Hell

Of all the art mediums I support, Crest is not one of them.

Our ever creative artist, Rachel, decided that Play-dough and markers were out of style and ventured into the arena of pasty fluoride meets couch, carpet, walls and wood. One would think something that washes so easily from our mouths daily would be a breeze to get out of fabric, but no. Murphy says no.

Housecleaning hint for parent's with rabid children #12

-Use stiff bristled brush when scrubbing toothpaste out of anything and lots of hot water.

You'll hate the smell of mint forever.

Beware the Refridgerator Art

Lord WTF felled one of his own minions and I caught a glimpse into some of the dastardly booby (sp?) traps he has set for me.

Case in point, my oldest son. Whilst I was away upstairs tending his youngest brother, I hear him padding around on the first floor. Then, the telltale crash and crunch of face meeting glasses. Silence and then the hitching sobs. This is a kid who would rather eat dirt than cry in front of anyone, so I knew he must have been hurt or at least shook up pretty badly.

He meets me on the stairs with blood pouring out of two tiny cuts on his eyebrow. Any mother of a son knows this region of the body well and how profusely it will bleed no matter how shallow the wound, so we patched him up and he's sporting a lovely black and swollen eye for the next week.

After a brief respite, we asked the boy how he fell considering he is extremely agile and like a little spider monkey most of the time.

"Ma, the paper, it came after me and I fell."

The paper. So, before I start checking for killer newspapers flying about, I go downstairs and pull a CSI inspection. Follow the blood trail and spatter to the pool of crimson on the floor. A-ha! Seems Miss Rachel was doing her art earlier in the day and had placed one of her creations on the fridge, but used a weak magnet and said masterpiece floated gracefully to the ground. Now, if I would have stepped on it, I'm sure I would be nursing a broken tail bone by now, but a 5 year-old bounces more.

Just remember, not even such niceties as children's art work is what it seems.

Slushies

If it isn't lord WTF keeping me busy, it is the Spring. When you live in a place where winter lasts about 5 months, you don't take the wonderful days of sun and balmy weather for granted, thus my lack of postings in the past month, but here's a new one.

Just when I thought I could sneak away and spend a few moments lost in the latest novel I'm reading, I hear the distinctive sound of a child skidding across the floor and crashing into the ground. Silence. Then came the hitching screams and wails. My mommy sense told me this was big and up the stairs comes my oldest son, bleeding profusely from his eyebrow. Glasses smashing into a little boys face on impact are very unforgiving, but thankfully, produce very shallow wounds.
Suddenly, everyone under the tender age of six in the house has a boo-boo that needs tending. Amazing how invisible owies pop up on the rest of the pack when one of their brethren is recouping. Will Tylenol take care of it? No. How about a band-aid? Well, sort of, but the magical elixir that puts all hearts and gashes at ease is slushies. Hooray for syrup infused, sugar laden blue slushies, straight from our own personal arsenal of kitchen equipment.

Not even lord WTF can beat my secret weapon to quiet and content kids. YA-HA!

Mason Jars

Gack!

My dear friend Annie was a gem and gave me scores of mason jars for summer canning along with gobs of clothes for my brood which were sorely needed. Well, dum, Dum, DUUUUMMM! Lord WTF was ready.

I have about twent mason jars lined up in neat little rows filled with an assortment of wonderful childhood objects. My personal favorite was chalk and water. Note to self for the billionth time. Put %&*# away as soon as it enters the house and keep it under lock and key.

Well, at least I can count my lucky stars; he didn't pee in any of them.

Scrubs

A word that will strike fear into my little children, SCRUB!

The latest victim, Rachel, who decided to go hog wild with a dry erase marker while I went upstairs to nurse her baby brother. Apparently she was channeling Picasso and couldn't help herself.

An hour later, she was done cleaning the black streaks off of the wall, the tile, the hardwood floor and the carpet. Martha Stewart has nothing on her domestic skills.

Dalmations and Bleach

It is absolutely amazing how the most inoccent of childhood movies can corrupt a child. First it was Winnie the Pooh and the Amazing Honey Incident. Now, 101 Dalmations inspiring my children to mark themselves with black spots in order to join the ranks of man's best friend.

Woof!

Thank goodness for bathtime.

Rachel took it a step further and drew on some funky eyebrows for herself. Here's rendition of what she looked like.



We call her little Renji now. (yeah, it's an inside joke for any of the anime fans out there.)

I hate Winnie the Pooh

There must be subliminal messages in children's books and cartoons that either insite them to violence or vandalism.

Case in point:

What we affectionately call The Honey Incident. Our daughter took a full bottle of honey and went artistically ape in the basement all over the floor, toys, and couch. This wasn't a big dump of honey anywhere. No, this was little tendrils splashed to and fro.

Why would a child do this? Upon asking her, she simply replied, "Because I wanted to be Winnie the Pooh."

Sorry, but the last time I checked, that bear ate the honey, not danced around with it, decorating a room in its sticky goodness.

Some parents have a v-chip to sensor the television. Sadly, I have to resort to blocking the Disney Channel.

Easter

"Tomorrow is Easter, Rachel."

"Yes, I get a basket?"

"Yes, you do, but let's talk about why we celebrate Easter and it has nothing to do with baskets."

"Jesus?"

"Yes, Jesus. Tomorrow is the day set aside to celebrate his resurection and when God fulfilled all of his promises."

"And EGGS!"

"...."

"Um, no. Eggs on Easter came about for other reasons. Jesus didn't have a bunch of colored eggs with him when he walked out of his tomb."

"....."

"How about we go over this tomorrow, honey, it will make a bit more sense."

"No, Jesus did not die. You said he lives and Easter is about EGGS!"

"Okay, I'll go with that. Ready for bed?"

"Yes, just don't forget the eggs tomorrow."

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Letters

"Mom! Come look I did it, I did all my letters!"

Looks at husband in confusion: "Letters?"

"Guess we had better go and look."

tump tump tump tump tump up the stairs

"Ta-dah! See!"

"Ohhhhh! Um, yeah, I see. You did do your letters...all over your wall around your room and in your closet, too!"

*takes several deep breaths*

"Um, honey. Let's remember this from now on. Letters belong on paper only, okay? Paaaaaper."

Looks at husband and he shrugs: "You're the one that suggested home schooling."

Blitzkrieg

A friend asked me why I haven't posted in about a week and I calmly informed her that during warfare, communications are often severed on the front lines. There has been a lull in munitions fighting overnight, so I'll quietly sneak out to do my reporting.

Rather than go into detail, I'm just going to list the events of last week that have had me questioning my decision to have four children.

1. The coconut tree. Two children decided to finger paint with my body lotion on my bathroom mirror and call it "the coconut tree". Thank you Chika Chika ABC's. You've inspired my children to vandalism.

2. Two urinary moments in the basement. There are days when I'm sure my daughter is losing her mind.

3. The remote. Oldest son found it fit to disassemble the downstairs TV remote. Thank goodness the Koreans made it so easy to put back together or off to the store I would be to by yet another universal remote.

4. Candyland. The children raided a box of lollipops and had about 15 each lodged into their sticky little hands. Even I know when to just leave something alone.

5. Books in the vacuum. Apparently board books belong in the collection canister. They were in the way.

6. Sprinkles. I hate decorating sprinkles for cakes and cookies. Apparently, my bed was not complete without an container of the suckers spilled from head to foot board.

7. Reboot. The computer didn't work properly, according to our eldest son's standards, and so he decided to unplug the entire thing from monitor to speakers.

Whew! There you have it. Solid birth control for the future generation. Parents, have your teenage sons and daughter's read this and commit it to memory. It's a jungle out there, especially with a house full of monkeys.

Truce?

*takes off camo-fatigues*

Hmm, me thinks lord WTF and his minions (aka my children) seemed to have initiated a cease fire for the last few days. No major messes, melted toys, heck, even the baby didn't cry when he received his shots today.

Must be the weather. It even puts dark overlords in a good mood.

*UPDATE*

ASSASINATION ATTEMPT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Seems my oldest son placed a marble in my water glass, probably in an effort to see if it would float, sink, or dissolve. Good thing I saw the hint of blue in the center of said clear marble. It seems lord WTF knows no bounds, but a-ha! I have found his cache of WMD's and they are mine!!

Bowling

"Steve? What is that noise?"

"..."

"For Pete's sake." *gets out of bed and pads across the hall when sleeping mate refuses to acknowledge my existence after head meets pillow.*

CRASH! "What the...?" *opens oldest child's bedroom door*

"Nice Throw! I got the 10 pin, Mama!"

There sits the oldest of our brood, about 12 mini Mt. Dew bottles he's saved up over time, empty of course, and his wooden train tracks set out to act as bowling lanes. A proud and pleased grin graces his face while he does some sort of "raise the roof" woot woot type of dance.

"Son, let's do this tomorrow and not at a time when even God is taking a power nap. M-kay?"

*head nod in the affirmative from boy*

I'll miss these days when he's up for unknown reason playing his Mt. Dew bowl-a-rama game at 3am and they are replaced with worries of what he is doing in his room at age 15.

Planets

So, here are the names of the planets, according to Rachel, that grace our solar system. And for those of you that don't count Pluto, PFFFFFFFFFFFFT, I don't count you.

"Okay, Rachel. Hit it."

"Mercury, Penis, Earffff, Mars, Juumpiter, Saturn, Uranus (funny just all by itself even when pronounced correctly), Neptune and Puto."

"Good, sweetie, good. Um, Venus. Veeeeenus. Not penis. Don't need the state coming in here or anything."

Even the quiet days are good for a laugh.

Beware the Nakey

Nothing strikes fear into my heart as the sight of my nakey daughter. She's not grotesque or anything, looks like a normal little girl. No, what makes me tremble with trepidation is the story behind her lack of suitable attire. Oh, our little darling is a fashionista in her own right and is seldom without clothing in any fashion. She picks her outfit out right down to the princess knickers. So, for her to show up without a stitch on her means lord WTF has struck again. It usually goes like this

"Rachel?"

"Yes?"

"Where are your clothes?"

"Um...I spilled something on my shirt."

"Okay, but why are you without your pants?"

"Oh, they're wet."

"With what?"

"I pee-peed in them and came up to change."

"WHAT THE...*deep breath*...Rachel, where?"

"Oh (insert various location here). I'll clean it up tomorrow.

Now, forget about getting a why out of her. There is truly no point. Any parent of a child knows what this is about. This is the sheer will power of a child overriding their carefully crafted potty-training so they don't miss out on any fun. Simply put, they just forgot that when bladder is full, empty it in the appropriate vessel. I have a feeling my daughter will also be the type to say, "Screw it" when the check engine light comes on.

Sigh. I'm off to scrub carpet and hardwood floor because this diddy of a Worse Than Failure moment has happened twice in 24 hours. I'm going to be hitting the Dew hard tonight.

Using The Force

I sensed a small disturbance in the Force only to find said sibling disturbances engaged in a rousing game of "trash the bathroom". My Spidey skills did me right for once and I stopped the onslaught of baby lotion from leaving my daughter's hands. Me-1, them-0. I stopped rampaging marbles from laying in wait for a tender foot to step on them in the middle of the night on said bathroom floor. This would have certainly unleashed a litany of curses which would have awoken the baby at 2am. Lastly, the closet dowel rod that my two disturbances had decided to try and use as a jousting stick or God knows what was safely removed from their creative hands. That makes it Me-3, them-0.

Lord WTF has no idea I've morphed into Patton.

"Accept the challenges so that you can feel the exhilaration of victory." -George S. Patton

Mwahahahahaha! Victory, she dances with me tonight!

Mommy Ninja

Oh, lord WTF threw himself an all out bash this morning. War is upon us and I've become to lax, complacent if you will, with my standing around here. No more! I'm sneaky...like a ninja. Battle lost, but not the war!

Apparently, as I dutifully did my morning 30 minute clean-up of the entire upstairs, lord WTF took the opportunity to enlist the curiosity of the two-year-old in his "shock and awe" maneuver. I had no idea what befell the pantry until the little tyke came upstairs with a loaf of raisin bread in hand and covered from head to toe in a powdery substance. The bread flour has met it's demise along with some rice and I believe I saw a St. Patrick's day derby filled with dried pinto beans. I'm going to give myself an ulcer if I don't get a chance to go outside and scream, but since it's blustery and snowing, I'll settle for a blog.

If lord WTF wants to clash swords, so be it!! Dustbuster at the ready and a firm "stink eye" set in place to threaten his recruits with. Bring it.

Conversations

"Psssst. Hey, psssst."

"What...oh. I'm not supposed to talk to you."

"Why not?"

"Mom said you are trouble and to not talk to you."

"She did? Well, her and I just have misunderstandings. Say, that's a pretty color of purple you are coloring with. You know what? I think it would look great on the walls, really brighten the place up."

"Mama says not to color on the walls. She says she is sick and tired of scrubbing our messes up."

"Not your artwork, though. I've heard he say she LOVES your pictures! You should surprise her with a big one right here."

"Really? Hmmm. OKAY!"

"And when you finish with the wall, make sure you add some warpaint to yourself and your brothers. I know you guys have to leave the house in 15 minutes and all, but if artwork is good on paper, it's great anywhere!"

Sigh, yeah. Lord WTF corrupts the minds of the young at every possible moment. Walls will recover and I think the world is used to seeing my kids in Braveheart mode as to not even bat an eyelash when we pull up to the grocery store.

Vampires need not apply

A quiet moment for Benjamin and I. Just a mother and a nursing infant sharing a beautiful bond and stealing a space in time for some peace from it all. Then it hits. The unmistakeable smell of garlic. Not that tantalizing aroma found in some Italian Momma's kitchen as she pours he soul into a meal for her family. Oh, no. This was like driving by Gilroy, CA! The daily "wtf" moment swooped in on stealth mode and in a mocking tone declared his lordship over our house once again.

I love my kids, all four of them. I do!! It's just that Lord WTF has sway over them when I'm not looking. They are young, impressionable, and fall victim to his "fun" on a daily basis. Today, garlic powder. The oldest boy decided to fill his toy watering can with the stuff while I was busy with his youngest brother. He proceeded to then fill said can with water to see if garlic powder dissolves. He gets points for doing his own science experiment, but a demerit for not asking me first. His partner-in-crime, little sis, decided not to do a science experiment, but to make it "snow" with the rest of the garlic powder. Oh, it snowed. Granular garlic drifted down onto every surface within her near 4ft reach. Dear God, please help me. Lord Worse Than Failure has won again!

Today is clean up of said garlic powder and involves scrubbing every floor it touched. You don't sweep or vacuum this stuff away. On the upside of all of this, our home is vampire free.