Wednesday, April 16, 2014


This morning my Sprinks was a Super Helper.  So super, in fact, that she cleaned up her own pee puddle from a tragically shifted Pull-Up with one of my handmade throw pillows.

Then she painted breakfast.  She did things with a bowl of cereal and 1/16th inch of milk in 2.5 seconds that I didn't think were possible.   I'm starting to believe that she can bend time and space.

Yesterday, she tripped over the same 2 steps (that have been in the exact same spot since we moved in almost 2 years ago) no less than 12 times causing the use of a disproportionate amount of My Little Pony band-aids.


She got stuck in a cape.

She lost 3 socks.  None from the same pair...

She fell while picking her nose.  FAIL.

She refused to wear a shirt.

She smacked Sass in the face for not letting her on HIS bed.

She survived solely on milk and Goldfish.  And Pony band-aids.

She cried uncontrollably because she had to take a nap.

She cried uncontrollably because she woke up.

She cried uncontrollably because a movie wasn't Frozen.

She cried uncontrollably because a movie WAS Frozen.

She tried to secede and start her own dictatorship.

She tripped while picking her nose again.

So, what I'm saying is she is 2 and I have Toddler PTSD.  And that I need drugs.  For me.  She already makes her own brand of crazy.

Friday, April 4, 2014

The Quiet Times

     My children are always their most adorable when they are sleeping.

     It certainly isn't when they are all clustered around a chaotic lunch table, like deranged cattle in a holding pen, mooing loudly for more milk and food that has never been in my refrigerator but has been seen on TV.

     It most definitely is not when all goes eerily quite in the playroom and I find them huddled around a mysteriously wet spot in the carpet, bathroom cup in hand but the toilet unfortunately unflushed.

     I can safely say it is not when my daughter comes inside chewing happily on a mouthful of what turns out to be potting soil.

     Nor is it when my son, who insists that he pee standing up like a grown man, suddenly turns to share some brilliant 4 year old insight mid-stream.

     And it is not when the baby loudly and violently decides to reject the 3 mouthfuls of mashed green beans she was surreptitiously cheeking, like a sneaky little rodent, onto my face, hair, and all surrounding surfaces.

     No, it is not those times.  It is when all the troubles of the day fall away into pink cheeks, gentle sighs, and snuggled stuffed animals that they are their most adorable... but they are always loved.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Don't say I didn't warn you!

     Oh Spring!  Unfurl your tender buds, wake your sleepy bees, and deposit your 24 Vomit-paloozas... wait... what?  That last one.  Yeah.   Did you know that kids who talk a lot have really well developed core muscles and so can projectile yerk like it's an Olymic Sport and they ain't settlin' for no Silver?  At least poor Sass figured out the toilet/barf relationship.   Sprinkels thought it was wall paint.  Or something to snuggle.  Two comforters, three pillows, and several sheets later she finally stopped erupting and, as I bolted up the stairs for the 40 millionth time at around 1:30 a.m. to the not-so-sweet-sounds of chunks hitting carpet, I realized I was learning some things... big things.  Things I would like to share with ya'll...

1.  A puking toddler is  The.  Saddest.  Thing.  Ever.  EVER!  All you want to do is clasp them to your bosom, stroke their hair, and tell them it will be alright... but you can't because they are covered in ralph-nasty.

2.  Apparently, I have a line.   See reason 1.

3.  Puke in your bed once, shame on the virus.  Puke in your bed twice, shame on Mommy for not getting out the blow up matress sooner.  Puke in your bed thrice,  well... damnit.

5.  4 was too gross.  Sorry.

6.  You wrestle gators naked and blindfolded?  Amature!  Try two kids playing gut Vesuvius after eating hot dogs for lunch.  Hot.  Dogs.  Yeah...

7.  Never assume the worst is over.

8.  Never give a sick child anything you plan on eating again in the next decade.  Or do, if you need an effective diet plan.

9.  Doomsday Preppers may not be as nutty as I thought.   I really should stockpile more towels and sheets.  And carpet cleaner.  And pjs.  And sleep.

10.  Describing in minute and gory detail all the trials and tribulations endured that troubled night to my childless buddies has been quite entertaining.  For me anyway...  You gotta get yer jollies somehow.

But the important thing is we all survived.  Well, almost all of us.  Poor Piggy.