Evil wives club

How to mess with your husband while he's programming a new remote control:

1. Come up with a brilliant idea.

2. Wait while your husband hooks the remote up to a laptop.

3. Say, "Why in the world do you need to hook a remote up to a laptop?"

4. Forget to listen to the response because you are waiting to execute your brilliant idea.

5. Resist the urge to smile while thinking about it.

6. Get bored and wonder how long it takes to program a remote.

7. Wait while he gets up and goes to the bathroom. Sigh.

8. Wait while he fiddles with the laptop and checks the model numbers to the 25 million devices hooked up to the TV.

9. Husband does something that makes you think your plan might be foiled but you find a way to get it back on track.

10. Wait.

11. Start to read a book.

12. The moment finally arrives! He holds the new remote control up and pushes the power button.

13. The screen turns on for a second and then turns off again.

14. On and then off again.

15. Still on and then off again.

16. Husband is puzzled.

17. You burst out laughing and show husband that you have the old remote control in your hand.

Good times!

If you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat

Does lifting the toilet seat seem like too much of a hassle?  Do you feel like maybe you've been spoiling your tush with a nice, dry seat?  Do you take pride in clogging the toilet, as if it's a medal of honor?  Come to my house- you'll fit right in! 

Boys, boys, boys.  There is a mystery behind them that I'll never understand.  The greatest one is WHY???!!!  Why can't you put your game controller down instead of attempting to "go" while playing?  Why do you laugh as you yell for me to come plunge the toilet? Why is there pee all over my bathroom? 

The next question is HOW???!!!  How can you manage to get pee on the walls, the seat and the lid and still possibly get some into the bowl? How much water did you drink today?  How do you feel about boarding school?

One Sunday, I had enough.  I locked the downstairs bathroom and placed a sign on the door stating that it had been closed my the Department of Public Health.  No one got the joke.  

I suppose someday it will get better, right?  Until then, I shall chant my mantra, "If you sprinkle when you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat...and the walls...and the floor...".

Hurricane Penny

Sorry I haven't posted in a couple weeks but our house was hit by a natural disaster.  Hurricane Penny came through, at 33 inches tall with pigtails and a tutu, she's turned our house upside down.  She looks cute all in pink with a beautiful smile and bright blue eyes but don't let that fool you.  This storm should never be underestimated.  

Penny has learned to scale the pantry shelves with grace and skill that rivals Spiderman.  Therefore, she has an all day smorgasbord of food that she will get as soon as I turn away for one second.  In the time it took me to go to the bathroom, she climbed up high enough to reach the top shelf, held a tootsie roll in between her teeth and climbed back down to unwrap and enjoy her treat.  Max watches as she does this so he can report it all to me upon my exit from the bathroom.  

Just today, I had to intercept Penny at the pantry 16 times. She also emptied the plastics drawer and dumped out all the Mega Bloks and play doh sets.  Her peanut butter sandwich ended up on the living room floor and smeared on a box of dominoes despite me bringing her back to the table several times. When our new child-locked dishwasher arrived, I caught her trying to stick a fruit snack in the vent.  From morning till night, she is on the go, with a brief period of a nap which gives me just enough time to feel my sanity returning.   

As I was making dinner and counting down the time until Penny goes to bed, she came to me with a big smile on her face, pulled me down to her and said "hug" and she squeezed me tight. Isn't that what it's all about?  The messes and tantrums melt away.  For a moment, all is right with the world.  As she gets up, she grabs a hold of my hair, pulls hard and giggles.  Is it bed time yet?

Valentine, I want to get suspended from school for you

Okay, I may get criticized for this post but I get annoyed each Valentine's Day when it comes time for my kids to pick out cards to give to their friends at school.  Last year, Charlie and Isaac wanted Pokemon ones.  Easy enough, right?  So, we get the cards home and most of them have messages on them like, "Valentine, you're hot" and "On fire for you".  Let me be clear. These are valentines for my elementary school aged kids to give to their friends.  I wrote to the company and told them that I thought these messages were inappropriate for that age group.  I got a reply saying that it was a joke because the Pokemon had fire abilities and that I was too old to "get it".  Do you know what I am old enough to "get"? That telling someone at school that they are hot is sexual harassment.  I weeded through the cards and managed to find some with appropriate messages and threw the rest away.

This year, I thought I would play it safe.  I bought valentine cards made by Dum Dum lollipops.  They weren't as bad but I did take out the ones that said, "You put me on cloud nine" and "Guess who likes you?".  I also didn't use the stickers that came with it that said, "Yeah, baby!".  

Am I overreacting?  Being a prude?  All I know is that I'd rather my kids send messages like, "I'm glad we're pals" rather than proposition their friends.  That's just me.

I hate Mom!!

There comes a time in every Mom's life when your child will hate you.  Last night, 9 year old Charlie didn't get his way.  He got grounded.  One day...Two days...Three days.  He couldn't stop himself.  That's when it happened. He took out his treasure box, pictured above, and wrote "I hate Mom!!" in it.

I suppose he was waiting for some sort of reaction from me when he brought it in and placed it on my desk.  I didn't cry. I didn't feel like a bad parent. There is no time for such silliness.

As hard as it is, being a parent means being a parent.  It means accepting that you aren't always going to be your child's best friend.  Your child will not always like you and for small periods of time you may not really like them either.

Later that evening, Charlie came to me and said he was sorry and that he really does love me.  I said that I will always love him.

So it goes. The story of mother and child.  We like each other most of the time but love each other always.

It's all fun and games until someone gets shot in the eye

2:30 pm... It's calm.  Too calm.  Eerily calm.  The house is clean, everybody is happy and I feel relaxed.  I imagine Charlie and Isaac coming home from school.  I'll hug them, ask them about their day and they will find something quiet but fun to do while I do the daily crossword puzzle....

I'm awake! I'm awake!  My two oldest children barrel through the door from school.  I manage a hug and ask them about their day.  They reply, "Good, Mark's coming over to play!".  I normally have all the kids play outside but it just so happens that it is freezing out there and who am I to deny my kids their play time.  I think, "Okay, one extra child will be fine".  

Before Mark gets here, Andy rings the doorbell and asks if the kids can play.  He's brought along a video game.  I agree and tell the boys that they can have one friend in to play since it's so cold outside.

Enter Tony and his little brother, Garrett.  They want to know if they can come in.  I explain the rule that only one person can come in to play at a time.  Tony looks at me with sad eyes and asks if it's okay if he just sits and watches Andy play his video game.  I agree. 

After a short time,  playing a video game is no longer fun.  I was calmly trying to do my crossword puzzle when a game of hide and seek breaks out. 

The doorbell rings.  It's Mark, the original person who was coming over.  I let him in to enjoy the fun.  I now have seven boys and a 2 year old girl in my house.  They all get Nerf guns out.  I begin to prepare dinner.  The noise level grows.  I round up all the kids and tell them that if it gets too crazy, everyone will have to go outside.  I might as well have said that they couldn't breathe because boys are made to be loud and crazy.  

I think to myself that it's great that they are all having fun and what a blessing it is for my kids to have a group of friends.  I can deal with a little bit of crazy, right?  If I couldn't, I surely got into the wrong business. Squeals and happiness and excitement fill my house.

Then, a different sound.  A yell, followed by a cry.  I run in and ask what happened.  Charlie shot Issac in the eye with a Nerf gun.  I resist the urge to utter the dreaded phrase that is the title of this blog.  

Party's over.  It's time for everyone to go home.  Dinner is ready.  I'm feeling a little less calm.  My house is a little more messy.  But my children are smiling, even Isaac who got shot in the eye.  I think it came out even.

Boys will be boys

Do little boys ever learn?  Yesterday,  Max very sheepishly came to me with his hand behind his back.  I asked him to show me his hand and he showed me that a lightsaber piece from his Play Doh set was stuck on his finger.  His middle finger, at that.  The middle finger that he waved at me to show me what had happened.  I laughed at the sight and wondered how do boys get themselves into these predicaments?  Was he thinking he could hide his hand behind his back for the rest of his life and I'd never know?

Anyway, that lightsaber was stuck.  I immediately called for an expert, my husband.  He gets called for splinters, infected fingernails, cuts, ticks, basically anything that might cause pain to fix.  I don't like to do it because if Max as much as winced in pain, I would likely just tell him it's not that bad to have a lightsaber on his finger and he could just live with it.  My brave husband managed to remove the object from Max's finger along with some skin. A band-aid made it all better.

So, what do you think a 3 year old boy would learn from this?  Not to stick things on your finger? Nah, too broad.  Not to stick a lightsaber piece on your finger?  You'd think.  

This afternoon, Max waltzes into my bedroom with his hand behind his back.  I can see the hand with the band-aid still on it but the other is hidden from my view.  I look at his sheepish little face and tell him to show me what is behind his back.  He once again produces his hand and I see a middle finger pointed in my face with a lightsaber piece stuck right on it.  I had to laugh.  What else can a mother do in this situation but laugh?