The Aquafresh is spiked

I have come to believe that there must be something in the kids' toothpaste. It's spiked with some kind of mental inhibitor. It makes them act completely crazy and unlike anything I have seen prior to becoming a parent. I would say that there are suspicious substances in the water too because- geez! It seems everytime I turn around I am pregnant, but this is not about me being pregnant so many times, because I am NOT pregnant, merely stating a fact.

I am convinced that there IS something in the kids' toothpaste. It has to be the paste, because people just don't do the things my children do. It could be the genes and in that case I will blame my high-flying-Superman-jumping-from-dressers husband. HE started all of this. I am sure it doesn't help that he wrestle fights the boys, plays soccer in the house with them and plays 'steal the Best Friend' with them, which usually turns into a screaming match with Gabe at the forefront. After all it is his Best Friend that is being passed around like it's the last piece of chocolate cake at a kids birthday party.

I don't mind this madness when my husband is leading it as the boys do love it and someone has to do it. If I attempt a fraction of what hubby does with the boys I usually end up with a black bruise SOMEWHERE on my body or just simply wake the next morning with a killer back ache. I will stick to crafts, play dough and playing board games thank you.

The reason for this rant. Yes, there is a main point.

Yesterday was a doozy. It was discovered that two of my sons decided to pee in one of their toy bins. NOT just one boy, but two boys. Imagine how much pee that generates. Those kids can stand at the toilet for a full 30 seconds peeing. Thirty seconds is a long time when you consider the amount that would generate. Ewww!

It was, at the very least one of the nastiest things I have encountered since becoming a parent 7 years ago. I carried the bin into the tub wondering how I was to handle this. I could just carry the bin right outside to the trash can or make the boys clean each and every urine soaked toy. I let it rest for a moment or two so that I could collect myself. I dropped a few F-bombs in my head, along with a couple 'I can't F-ing believe its'. I think one F-bomb may have leaked out of my mouth. It was warranted. They peed in a toy bin!!!!!!!!!

It was also discovered that the 'deed' was done on Wednesday night while watching the movie 'Babe' in their room, which is a rarity. They don't often get to watch a movie in their room, but I was feeling a bit generous that day and decided to lift the ban for just one day. See what happens when I let my guard down for a moment? Piss happens.

After soaking in a urine bath for a few days the smell...oh boy! Well.... if you have ever walked up a public parking ramp stairway where bums and drunkards go to 'relieve' themselves then you know the stench I refer to. It was atrocious. I would say that it took me back to my twenty-something party days, but it didn't. It just verified that I live with a bunch of lunatics. I love my lunatics but they do make for a stressful life.

The two pissers were sent to their rooms for a while. They couldn't give me a good explanation for why they did what they did. I would accept the reason was that they just didn't want to miss a moment of the movie. I may never know why. Really, is there a good reason to pee in a box of toys?

The urine toys were soaked in very hot soapy water then transferred to a bleach bath where they are now.


I cannot make this stuff up.

Cleaning? Phsst! I can do that.....later

My husband is having friends over Friday. Just a couple guys, he says. And beer. What a great combination. Does that mean I have to take care of the kids on Saturday? I have things to do! Grocerys to buy, a pedicure to have, ironing to do.

Oh how selfish of me. bleh, whatever!

Friday. That's tomorrow. I have been calm thus far.

We do have 4 children and I haven't the time to dust. There must be seven layers of dust on our furniture. If you ever come to my home please leave your white gloves at the door otherwise I might have to kick you out. With a foot.

Friday.

Guests.

I am not ready, yet I remain calm. What can I do? I will gather up all of the crap laying around and stuff it into my 'Monica' closet. Everyone has one. Even you I bet. Well maybe not EVERYONE as I know a person or two who are very tidy. Careful coming to my house you tidy people as your pants might stick to the chair when you sit down and you might be leaving my house with a red jelly stain on your 'tidy' butt.

I dust, I Windex, I vaccuum, I cram things into places that don't fit just to make the mess disappear. Oh, I know. It didn't REALLY disappear and when I open that crammed Monica closet things are going to fall on my head. BUT while the guests are here, I won't see the mess and my home will be as clean as Marthas.

Even if it is all a facade, I will be deemed a good housekeeper. Just call me Betty.

There are some things that I just cannot fix around here. Like my lack of vision when it comes to adding decor.

I was not born with the decorating gene or what I call the 'Martha' gene. This can sometimes stress me out. I have moments when I stand still and look at things around my home and wonder why I bought THAT and why I thought THAT would go with THAT. I need assistance. I need a personal decorator because I know that those flowery throw pillows do not go with our beige couch. I want to hire the woman from Devine Design. She has good taste. She has vision.

But for now, I will just put things where they fit and hope for the best. I don't measure so I will just pound a nail and hope for the best. I don't plan, I just buy an item that I like and hope for the best.

Crap! Am I supposed to serve the guests food too?

I cleaned and crammed and rearranged. Cheezits will have to do.

Counting Sh_t! Counts as Learning

"MAAAAWWWM!" I make my way toward the summoning child. The sound is coming from the downstairs bathroom. This might be messy. It's never a good thing when a child is closed himself inside a bathroom and is yelling for me. This I know from experience. True grit or true sh_t! See. Now I didn't SAY the 'S' word so technically I am not swearing.

I am now thinking like a child too.

Reasoning, reasoning with my own self.

"MAAAAAWWM"! He calls seconds later. Impatience not only runs in my blood but apparently my childs.

Trying not to run, because my son does seem distressed, I reach the bathroom and ask him what he needs. I respect his privacy and keep the door closed. I am working on that one. They are getting older and going to be doing things that I do NOT want to walk in on. Practice! Practice! I don't want to be one of THOSE Maaawms.

"Mom, the toilet is going to plug up! I know it is..." he tells me through the closed door. He is most likely correct in his assessment. After all, toilets are not meant to flush down a whole roll of toilet paper. I wonder if he sits in there calculating how much TP it would take to clog the toilet. Maybe he just wants to try out the plunger, just once.

"Are you done going potty?" I ask through the closed door.

"Yeah, but the toilet is going to plug up!"

"I'll take care of it. Just finish up in there and I will take the plunger to it." A small child, poop and a plunger is not a good visual.

"MOM! The toilet is going to plug up!" He must tell me why and continues. ......"I know it, because there are 13 poops in there."

This one made me laugh out loud. He actually counted his poops. Learning happens everywhere.

A new kind of counting book? I could be in the money.

'Count Your poops!' or 'Poop Counting' OR

A new sidekick for The Count on Sesame Street; 'Count Poops A Lot'.

"He counts poop and so can you! Aww ha ha ha ha!"