A year in review

Captain's Log: There is no date. I gave up on dates other than occasionally remembering pediatric appointments and concert dates. I focus on my theater of war. The trenches are dug deep and to poke my head out of it once in awhile means I may find myself staring in the face of Dean Winters as Mayhem, Lord WTF's very attractive older brother. Yes, it's a family affair with those two now and my house is ground zero.

What has the last year of battle been like? Fantastic. I've won more than I lost, but I've refined the use of swearing to an art form. We've had a few casualties and in honor of their brave service, I'll list them here.

*My makeup. The "puppy" of the house, or affectionately known as my younger son, deep sixed my makeup twice this year and the replacement price tag is not discussed. It's kind of like discussing how much any land war in the Middle East is going to cost when the check is called. We just don't go there.

*The ceiling of the basement and its cousin, the floor in the kitchen and first floor bathroom. The "puppy" stopped up the sink, turned on the water and just let it flow. I've yet to get a straight answer out of the kid for this one, but I will have my revenge. He may be 3 now, but he will be 16 someday. ~evil grin~

*The carpet. This fallen soldier, the horror it has been through. I wake up and play Taps for it. It held out as long as it could, but when you are dealing with minions, sometimes, it's just best to lay there and take it.

*Spices. Yes, spices. The "puppy" thought he was Emeril Lagasse and BAMMED! all over the house. Tumeric. I hate you. Curry? Bite me. And why French Thyme was masacared not once, not twice, but three times? I have no idea other than my son hates the French. Good boy. (humor, kids. It was humor.)

*Copic Markers. They lie in state with a candle lit for each one. The held the rainbow and a small fortune in their beautiful tips. Their blood decorates my walls now and No One knows who did it. I know. Lord WTF went for the gut on that one. There will be blood.


I could go on about a few sentimental Christmas ornaments, geisha hair pins that went missing for weeks, but I won't wallow in self pity for the loss of such things. No. I have a war to win. Soon, the theater will move as the "puppy" hits age four. The attacks will be more subversive, but I'm ready. I used to be a minion, too. I've fought for the otherside and my parents triumphed over Lord WTF, too.

I'm taking it to the matresses this year: me vs "the puppy." Buy your ringside tickets, folks. I'll be the one in the silk shorts made from the American flag with smoke coming out of her ears.

Bloodletting, Heinz style

It had been a blissful morning, filled with the usual tasks of wake up, shower, load dishwasher, load washing machine, empty dryer, make breakfast and get kids running. Simple. Easy. Routine.

That's when you need to be on your guard, folks. Lord WTF is always lurking, making you feel safe. I should have just kept the terrorist level on orange, but no, no. I let it drop to green, not wanting to scare the populace of my house into jumping at shadows or Lite Brights arranged as Moonites.

The two year-old, Lord WTF's greatest follower for he is small, impressionable and well, two, comes downstairs covered in a red substance that looks like blood, holding out his hand with one finger curled under so it is not visible to myself as I'm making a marinade for some kabobs. I scream, baby screams and I think the 4 year-old screamed. 6 year-old said keep it down, she couldn't hear her game on the computer and the 7 year-old vanished. He knows when to get out of the blast range.

I dash to the stairs and snatch the blessed toddler who then either high five's me in the face or does the 'face palm' maneuver and I smell it then. Ketchup. Lord WTF has gone to using my food stores as weapons and psychological warfare on me.

He will rue the day, oh yes. Rue it.

~sighs and trudges upstairs to make a 2 year-old clean up the Picasso tableau on my bedroom door. Medium used? Heinz 57~

Deity

There comes moments in a mother's life when she starts to realize the personality of her children. It isn't revealed all at once and is subject to change as said children mature and grow with experience, but there are those glimmers that come in an instant that give just a glimmer into what is the basis for who their child is.

Case in point: my youngest is a destructive two-year old that is as cute as the day is long, yet...he tries my patience like no other. He follows all of the toddler rules as if it is a cult of religion. "If it is empty, I must fill it. If it is filled, I must empty it," and so on and so on. Today, my little terrorist decided to spill a bottle of lotion on the floor and by this, I truly mean it was a conscious decision. This was no, oops, I spilled my juice, this was a very thought out action by the little sweetheart.

"Benjamin, for God's sake, stop that!" I yelled, striding across the room to retrieve the bottle he was practically wielding as a weapon.

"I'm not God," he stated, clear as day.

A glimmer.

My son, the honest smart-ass.

You're not the only one

Planets aligned today. They must have because I was able to steal a couple hours to shop by my happy alone little self and not for just the house, the kids or the hubs. No! This was for me. My mission was clear: replace all the makeup my darling toddler deep sixed in the tub. I had gone without for nearly four months because, well, let's face it. Mom's give up certain luxuries to make sure winter coats can be afforded and there are a few extra Christmas presents under the tree come December 25th. My lip gloss was just going to have to wait.

No more! I was on target today. Striding into Sephora (I went whole hog on this endeavor, believe you me), I went for my favorite brand, filled my little basket up with goodies and bee-lined for the checkout. It was there that I realized how deeply entrenched lord WTF truly is.

"Wow, stocking up?" the woman asked me as I swiped my debit card and keyed in the pin. I could see the total racking up, but this was my Valentine's Day gift. I didn't feel too guilty.

"Replacing what was lost," I responded, waiting for the magic number to appear on the tiny LCD screen.

"Lost? You lost all your makeup?"

"My 2 year-old dumped it all in the tub."

Dead silence.

A chuckle, then laughter.

"Thank God I'm not the only mother in the world with a child like that. All my friends have little ones and they don't do what my son does. He destroys everything. Don't ask what he did with a permanent marker."

I nodded in camaraderie with this fellow soldier, this army of one, perhaps two if her husband was worth his salt. Yes, I knew what it was like to have daily incoming from an innocent looking child; their cherubic face lit up in joy as they discover new color combinations on your wall with markers that WILL NOT WASH OFF SHORT OF SAND BLASTING!

"No, you are not the only one. Hang in their, sweets," I said, giving my best smile and exiting the store. I drove to Target after to do the "Mom" shopping and came across a lovely 1 year-old girl starting to toddle after me in one of the clothing departments.

"Aww, she must like you, Ma'am," her father said, so full of pride and joy in his little fruit of his loins. I could relate. I get the same warm fuzzies when I see my kids, too. She had a pack of Crayola "My First Crayons" in her chubby sticky hands.

"Careful with those, hun, they're loaded," I snickered to the man, bidding him a good day, wondering on which glorious day his precious bundle was going to discover the color Burnt Orange and go to town all over his living room wall.

Haunted Houses

It is often said that kids say the darndest things and this is true. Wisdom can come out of the mouths of babes as well as...well, shining moments like this.

My darling daughter, six in age, came to me two nights ago declaring our house was haunted and we needed to move. I looked over my computer screen to spy the darling in her Strawberry Shortcake nightgown and ruffled hair with a smirk to my face.

"And why do you think the house is haunted, hun?" I asked, preparing to have her sit with me while we sorted out the whole "ghost hunters" experience she was having.

"There is magic in the house," she states solemnly. I stifled a giggle, wondering where the heck the magic was when I needed a mess cleaned up or couldn' t find any of my underwear in my drawers.

"Really?" I prompt, standing slowly to get her some hot cocoa.

"And witch's craps."

I stopped standing.

"Say that again, baby?"

"Witch's Craps, I tell you!"

"Indeed," I reply through tears. "Let's go wake your daddy and tell him about this."

Ambushed

"Mom, Rachel threw up and needs Medicine" ~startles awake in the early AM to the demands of hyper children who obviously have alarm clocks that go off at 3am to be awake this time of day~

"Mom, the baby has the medicine." ~eyes start to drift shut until I hear this one~

"Mom, we don't have enough bags of sugar to make the Kool-Aide." ~thinks 'bags? how many bags does it...wait, what?!~

"Mom, the cookies look burnt, do I give them to the baby?" ~thinks 'I haven't made any cookies in a week, what are they talking about?'~

"Mom, can I have a Mt. Dude? (should be Dew, but...it's Dude to my 7 year-old) ~thinks 'heck no'~

Commotion commences downstairs, then a blood-curdling scream. Lord WTF has laid in wait, ready to ambush me as I sleep off two days of exhaustive house cleaning. New year, same war. Hope everyone's holidays were great.

Pointless Question

I'm not dead. Just to prove it, here is a quote heard in my house yesterday.

"Gah! Why is the floor crunchy!?"

~I give a puzzled look to such a pointless question~

"You have kids, now get the vacuum."

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.)