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??!

Sandy has nothing on the natural disaster known as the mall

Last night, my girlfriend and I took our children to the mall for trick-or-treating.  At the time, it seemed like a good idea.  I was sure trick-or-treating on Halloween was going to be miserable with the rain and I wasn't about to let the boys out in that.  So, I figured some candy was better than no candy.

I was wrong.  So very wrong.

Forget the storm outside, this place was the real shitstorm.  I had never seen the mall like this for Halloween.  And I worked in the mall for years.  My girlfriend and I gave each other a look, but trudged onward anyway.  I mean, we had gotten the little people into their costumes and out into nasty weather conditions.  We were getting something out of it. 
As a public service announcement, I will inform you that mall candy sucks.  (You're welcome.)  I don't know who bought the candy for these stores, but a breath mint from your purse does not constitute chocolate Halloween candy.  Where were the snack-sized Snickers bars?  The mini Twix bars?  What was I going to take from the boys while they were sleeping??  We watched a child spit out his mint onto the (mall) floor.  And the mother?  Did nothing about it.  I guess she figured mints suck as treats, too.

While waiting in the extremely large line for our mint, we (slooooowly) passed by a convenience store.  I almost went in there to get each of the kids a real candy bar (and had about 10 minutes to contemplate).  I mean, some of these places didn't even give out mints.  They gave out stickers.  That said, "I just bought new shoes." 

And fuck you trick or treat to you, too.

Also, for our (read:  not my) entertainment, we slooooowly passed by Victoria's Secret.  The boys open-mouth stared at those images of women in their underwear for the 5 minutes we waited outside the store.  At least they got an education?  I don't know.

My brilliant husband stayed home to install a battery backup for our sump pump.  I think he got the better end of the deal.  Well played, dear husband.

The good news is that trick-or-treat has been postponed in our city until Sunday.  So, I'll the boys will get Halloween candy after all!  And you can bet I will remind my girlfriend of this experience when she suggests it again next year. 

No.  No, we won't be going. 

Kiss me, I'm drunk

Over the weekend, we went to an event our friends put on every year to raise money for Alzheimer’s.  It’s always a fun time.  It’s held at a bar during an Ohio State football game.  We hang with our friends, there’s a room in which to stash our children for the children, complete with cartoons, crafts and chicken nuggets.  We draw straws take turns checking on them every hour 20 minutes or so.  There are prizes to win, free food and drinks (well, with-purchase-of-a-ticket free) and it’s for a good cause. 

This year was no different.  The free beer was going down fiiiinnne.  The Buckeyes won the game and everyone was having a great time.  Including my favorite person, Drunk SIL!

Sober SIL is superfun, too, don’t get me wrong. But there is something about slanty-eyed, carefree Drunk SIL that just makes you want to be BFFs with her (Call me!). 

As “adults” and caretakers of little people, we try to reign ourselves in when the little people are around. But, well, since they were locked in a room having their own fun, we let our freak flags fly (at least, the non-drivers did; we still try to be semi-responsible - even when we’re acting like complete idiots).

There was a wedding held in the same building that night (we shared a bathroom). And, we noticed this superfun (as we could tell from the music) wedding had a photo booth!

Drunk SIL: Let’s take a picture!

The rest of us:
 

Then:

We loitered outside the restroom, closer to the wedding, trying to figure out how we could get in unnoticed.  After we were on the verge of being arrested a few minutes of looking stupid, we went back to our own party room.  No photo booth pictures for us. 

(Sidenote:  my girlfriend once told me her dad used to crash weddings all the time in his youth.  And I’ve seen the movie.  You’d think we’d be able to pull it off, right?  But, I guess with us in jeans and red t-shirts, we didn’t really blend.  And we weren’t really drunk enough to risk prison time.)

Alas, the evening had to come to a close.  We packed up our hopped-up-on-sugar-exhausted children and made our way for the door.  I didn’t think I was terribly drunk.  I didn’t call anyone an asshole or steal said asshole’s cigarette. 

Nonetheless, I usually run through a checklist in my mind to decide if I’m drunk.

Urge to smoke?
Drunk Lea – yes
Sober Lea – no
Saturday Lea – no

Urge to hug everyone goodbye?
Drunk Lea – yes
Sober Lea – no
Saturday Lea – yes

Pass out Fall asleep in the car?
Drunk Lea – yes
Sober Lea – no
Saturday Lea – no

Eat a lot when I get home?
Drunk Lea – yes
Sober Lea – yes
Saturday Lea – yes

By my calculations, I was only 50% drunk, which is not drunk at all.  However, after speaking to my husband the next morning, I may have to reevaluate my checklist. 

Him:  You sure were chatty last night.
Me:  Oh, God.  What did I say this time?  Did I call anyone an asshole?
Him:  You were definitely entertaining the crowd.

Gaah.  Going forward, I’m adding chatty to my list.  And if it’s yes, I’m hiding in the car until it’s time to go home.

Serves me right

A few weeks' back, we had a crappy Sunday.  It was cold and rainy and everyone was pretty crabby - kinda like today, which reminded me of this story.

On the weekends, the boys play with the neighbor kids (the 2 girls, in particular) who live behind us.  They usually play between the backyards, but, because it had been raining, the boys asked if the girls could play inside.  Of course, I selfishly said yes as I knew this would be a surefire way to have the TV to myself for an hour.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary while the girls were over.  After an hour or so, they went home and we went to dinner over my brother's house.  That night at dinner, we discussed how my niece is growing up too fast and I secretly (and out loud) said how grateful I am that I have boys instead of girls (this will be important later).   

After dinner, the boys came home, took showers, and got into bed, as usual. As I was tucking him into bed, my 5-year-old told me he had a seekwet (secret).  So, I leaned in real close as he told me the words I didn't know I was dreading to hear... until I heard them.

"(The 8-year-old) was kissing (our 8-year-old neighbor girl) behind the couch."

Me:


 Him:


Oh, crap.  I always knew this would happen.  And somehow, I always knew it would be the neighbor girl.  She's beautiful.  And?  Convenient.  But, did it have to start so soon?

I blame the hormones in our milk.  Or cable TV.

So, I dragged the 8-year-old out by his ear took the 8-year-old into our bedroom to have a little chat.

Me: You want to tell me what happened today?
Him:  With what?
Me:  With (neighbor girl)?
Him:
 
Me (waiting):  ...
Him:  Well, it's kinda hard to explain.
Me (in my head):  Yeah, I bet it is... to your MOTHER.
Me:  Well, why don't you try?
Him:  How did you find out?
Me:  Mommy knows EVERYTHING.  So just tell me what you did.
  
He then tells me that he kissed her.

And that my 5-year-old also kissed the 6-year-old neighbor.


Holy crap.  Were they having an orgy down there?  Why aren't I spying on them taking better care of these children?  Was this the first time?  Did they (horror upon horrors) do anything else?!

After a good talking to (which, by the way, was real hard to do with a straight face - don't judge me), I put the boys to bed at last.   And then sat on the steps to spy overhear their conversation make sure they went to sleep like the good little angels they are.

8-year-old:  Mom knows what happened in the basement.
5-year-old:  Yeah, I know.  I told huwa (her).
8YO:  DUDE!
5YO:  Just kidding.
Me:  (stifling laughter)
8YO:  Do you think they have some kind of video camera in the basement?
Me:  (Yes, keep thinking that.  As a matter of fact, that's a GREAT idea!) 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be downstairs installing that video camera. 

Isn't he a little young for that?

My 5-year-old lost his first tooth this morning.

Say it with me:  Isn’t he a little young for that?

Right?  Because... well, to be fair, I have no idea how old you’re supposed to be when you lose a tooth, but it seems young to me anyway.  Of course, I thought it was early when my 8-year-old lost his first tooth the summer before he started Kindergarten.  So, what do I know? 

Maybe I’m just having a hard time with them growing older.  (Not that it has anything to do with the fact that if they’re growing older, I’m growing older, too.  I’m still in my 20s thankyouverymuch [*insert husband’s eye roll here*].)  But, I miss the younger years.  When they snuggled and pretty much believed everything I told them (I blame school for this one no longer applying).  The 5-year-old is still mine, but I’m losing my 8-year-old.  Oh, he’ll humor me with a hug or (gasp!) even snuggling through a whole half-hour TV show.  I love the age he is now, don’t get me wrong.  He understands humor and sarcasm (bless him – he is my boy); he’s smart compassionate and can wipe his own ass.  But, he calls me Mom.  And looking at pictures of him at age 2, I just get sad.

As for my 5-year-old, he still thinks I’m brilliant.  And still calls me Mommy.  And truly loves being with me.  Yesterday, he followed me around while I cleaned toilets and said he never wants to lose me.  I mean, could you just die?  I love these boys so much, I could eat them.

And dang, they are funny.  Whenever they say something particularly hilarious, I text my sister.  And, bless her heart, she has kept a running list of them.  So, in honor of my baby losing his first tooth, here are a few of his running commentary.  Enjoy!  I sure did.

(to the automatic doors):  "Thank you, doows! I'm vewy pwowd of you, doows."

"I can't wait til I can dwive by myself."  (me:  I can.)

"Mommy, thank you fow the best hot chocowate." (Forward bow)  "Thank you, youw highness."

"Mommy, don't touch my pwecious cookies!"

 (while eating ice cream): "My tongue has bwain fweeze."

Him:  "I want a snack."

Me:  "You just had a donut."
Him:  "Yeah, but this is diffewent."

I'm going to be supersad when he can pronounce cowectly.
     

Can't you just try to aim?

I try to keep a clean house.  It makes me feel good to know my family lives in a safe, healthy environment.  So, like one of my Pinterest pins told me to do, I try to do bit of housework every day.

I am fortunate enough to work part-time, so I have ample time at home each week to get things done.  And, for 2-1/2 blessed hours a week, I even get The.  House.  To.  Myself.  Before the children were school-aged, it took an act of God (or my mother's mercy - whatever you want to call it) for everyone to leave me the fuck alone for an hour of DVRd TV peace.  Now that we are given the opportunity to thrust hand over the children for someone else to deal with for a few hours a day, I can enjoy a cup of coffee without the guilt that I'm not creating some educational Pinterest crap craft with my darling children - because they're not here!!  They're actually being educated somewhere else!  It's a miracle!

The first time I was given my 2-1/2 hours, I had big ideas of using the attachments on the vacuum, cleaning out closets, washing down baseboards, exercising.  But, instead, I drank a cup of coffee and watched Love Story on cable.  And... time was up.

The second week, I was motivated.  I started the laundry early, I cleaned the bathrooms.  I went for a walk.  Around the block.  Then decided it was drizzling raining too hard, so back I went.  For another cup of coffee.  I pinned things to my Pinterest boards, I Facebook-stalked.  And... time was up.

Now my house is starting to suffer.  Because I'm a procrastinator by nature, these hours to myself are doing me no favors.  I was doing a better job keeping up the house when I had no time.

To make me feel even worse, I baby-sat for my cousin's twins this past Saturday.  His house is immaculate.  I have to believe they had just had their white carpeting replaced THAT MORNING or... I'm going to cry myself to sleep.

In my defense (read:  I tell myself so I don't jump off a cliff), their children don't move yet.  They can't possibly play catch in the family room (when they were explicitly told not to) and knock over their uncle's cranberry ginger ale.  Which is red.  All over the cream-colored chair.  Which is cream.  And carpeting.  Which is also cream.  Plus, their twins are still in diapers.  I live with 3 males and a cat.  No one knows how to pee.  In.  The.  Toilet.

It's enough to make you cry.

Instead of screaming all day long and basically being an asshole to everyone I love, I resolve to clean my house today.  Top to bottom.  I can make my carpet look new too!

As a matter of fact, I think I saw a Pinterest pin on that very subject!  I'll just look it up...

And... time is up.  Damn.