It's the final countdown

My sister is coming home this week for Thanksgiving.  10 whole days of fun and fun and more fun.  I can't wait.

You know who else can't wait?  My little monsters miracles. 

Every morning, they wake up (early - thank you, damn daylight savings) and say the following:

"So, Mom.  4 (3, 2, 1) more days until Meemee gets here?"

Me (every time):  Yes.

Them (this morning, in particular, with hope in their eyes):  You mean, when we wake up tomorrow, she'll be here??!

She's more popular than Santa Claus!
My sister and her husband moved to Dallas about 6 years ago now.  For a 2-year trial.  Turns out 2 years last longer in Texas than they do in the rest of the world.  It's been... fine.  I mean, Texas isn't all that bad, and she has great neighbors.  We miss her like crazy up here, but it's that much more fun when she comes home.  I don't know if we'd have this much fun together if she actually lived here.

Okay, we probably would.

But, for the next 10 days, we'll have our Meemee to take us for donuts and to Toys R Us and to her father-in-law's retirement home to play chess! 

Oh wait, that's the kids.

For the next 10 days, I'll have my Meemee to get manicures and drink alcohol and bake Thanksgiving pies and drink alcohol and watch Ohio State-Michigan football and, well, drink alcohol!

To add to all that, my brother is coming home, too!  For the entire week!  I may never see my boys and husband again!!

Bring on the holidays!!      

Oh, patience is a virtue, alright

Today was a trying day.  Right now, we're in the middle of our busy season at work.  With the storms this week, we lost a day due to power outages, so we're a little behind on top of busy.  And even when the lights came back on, the internet and phone were still down.  So, we're busy, behind and barren.

It's been awesome.

But, despite all that, I got my work done.  I came home.  Made dinner.  Served dinner.  Cleaned up dinner.  Afterward, I deliriously anticipated ignoring the crap out of everyone in my house (namely, those little monsters miracles I've created [whom I adore] [who have also stomped on my last available nerve]), sitting down with my Diet Coke and iPad for 20 frickin' minutes.

Think I got that?

Yeah, no.

In any event, I did my best to be oblivious to their shenanigans.  Which, I think, only made them try harder to annoy me.

Enter the 5-year-old.  With hand-drawn picture.  Drawn by his own hand, I might add.

Picasso, mIright?

Him:  Hey (8-year-old), look at my pictuwe.  See the penis and butt?
Me:  Throw that away. 
Him:  Mom, it's a beawd.
Me:  It is NOT a beard.  You just said it was a penis.
Him (solemnly):  It's a beawd.  See?  A beawd goes hewa (pointing to his chin, and the chin on the picture). 
Me (to myself):  Kid's got a point.

He then goes back to the kitchen table to fix the picture.  We get this:


Him:  It's you and me.  See?  I even showed the dots on youw face.

How sweet of him to accurately portray the zits on my face!  I should just be grateful he didn't keep the penis.  And turned the butt into some lovely earrings.

And then, because he was so proud of his artistry, chased his brother around the room saying, "Oh my shit!  Oh my shit!"

Seriously?  Was he trying to work me into an early grave?

I shoo the boys upstairs to shower.  After the 5-year-old was done, he thought it'd be funny to shake his bon-bon, and, in turn, his, well, you know.

Him:  That's my wiener.
Me (sighing):  Yes.  That's your wiener. 
Him:  And it's sek-SAY!!

He's going to kill me when he reads this one day, isn't he?  Oh well, serves him right.

Fuck this Diet Coke, where's the wine??!