Using Your Power For Good Instead of Evil

My children are a force of destruction. Sometimes, destruction can be a good thing. Wrecking balls have a purpose, after all. They are used to destroy old, dilapidated buildings so that new, modern, and more structurally sound buildings can be built. My children; however, choose to use their destructive powers for evil, rather than good.

This morning, I gave the boys fruit cups with mandarin oranges with their breakfast and then went into the living room to feed the baby. The next thing I know, I hear Simon say "Pill orange, Mama." I enter the kitchen to discover a sticky puddle all over the kitchen chair, the floor, the table, and my two-year-old, who proceeds to be seized by a sudden desire to wander about the house spreading his stickiness all over the place. I then spend the remainder of the morning wiping down the child and the house.

By the time I'm finished cleaning up from the breakfast demolition, it's time to make lunch. I busy myself with making a delicious and nutritious lunch for my darling children. I then call out, "Lunchtime!" Simon shows up, and as I'm lifting him onto his chair, I notice orange paint on his belly. Um. Yeah.

I go downstairs to find that my children have spread finger paint and pompoms all over the spare bedroom. All I can see is a Jackson Pollack design all over the bedroom in orange, accentuated by the bright colors of the pompoms.

If I wasn't so horrified, I would have taken a moment to appreciate the true artistry involved in creating such a mess.

I had to take a while to cool down before I could mete out consequences. I considered tarring and feathering them with finger paint and pompoms, but decided that I would end up being the one to clean them up afterward, and they probably would think it great fun, anyhow. I also considered forcing them to eat nothing but broccoli for dinner for a week, but that seemed cruel and unusual. Or at least cruel. So, I ended up taking away the iPad for a week. Which works out great for me, because now I don't have to share it, and I can play SimCity to my heart's content- at least when I'm not busy cleaning up after my children...

Truly, though. My children's destructive powers are amazing. Now, I wonder... How can I harness this power, and channel it into something good? Use it for good rather than evil? Any suggestions???


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

More Evidence That My Children are Communists

Jackson's favorite color is RED. Everybody knows that red is the color of communism. Think about it: The hammer and the sickle were on a background of RED. The Chinese flag is RED. The Cuban flag has RED in it. And, everyone knows that Vladimir Lenin had RED EYES. Yes, it's true, he had RED EYES! Now, I ask you, if Jackson is not communist, then why is RED his favorite color???




Vladimir Lenin

So This is What it Feels Like to be Pecked to Death by a Duck

What is it about the drive to and from church that brings out the worst in us? I remember hearing my dad say, "Geez!" multiple times on
Sunday mornings, as we were always late for one reason or another. I always swore that Sunday mornings would be the essence of tranquility when I grew up and had my own family.

Um, yeeeah.

Of course, I arrive late at everything. I usually blame my tardiness on my children; to be honest, I have found that my tardiness increases exponentially with each child. However, I have never been one to arrive early, and punctuality has always been a struggle of mine. Having children provides an easy excuse for tardiness. So, needless to say, we arrived at church late this past Sunday.

The real fun began on the way home from church. Just as we got all three kids loaded into the car, and we got on our way for the trek from Chevy Chase to Rockville, our baby started to cry. Caelyn gives absolutely no warning whatsoever when she is about to lose it. She goes from happy to super ticked in 5.2 seconds flat. And woe to us who fail to respond immediately to her demands. But, the poor thing is the third child, so it is her lot to cry for extended periods of time because her parents are too worn out/busy/overwhelmed/insane to actually respond to her cries. Believe me when I say that the Mommy Guilt over my poor third child is indeed a heavy burden for me.

So, Caelyn was wailing for a good twenty minutes when Simon, our middle child started to shout, "Mama!Mama!Mama!MAMA!MAMA!MAMA!!!MAMAAAAAAAA!!!MAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

I, the picture of motherly peace and tranquility turned around and shouted back, "What, Simon?!"

"Juice, please." (With Caelyn still screaming in the background.)

"Honey," I calmly said over the noise of Caelyn's screaming, "I do not have any juice in the car. I will get you juice when we get home." I turned back around and resumed trying to tune out my poor daughter's cries by staring out the windshield at the sky.

Suddenly, I was torn from my happy place with, "MAMA! Juice, please! Juice, please! Juice, please! Juice, please! Juice, please! Juice, please! Juice, please! Juice, please! Juice, please! Juice, please! Juice, please!" And it just kept going, and going, and going. I couldn't even respond to him because he just kept shouting, "Juice, please!" over and over and over and over and over again! I am telling you, friends, that it felt like I was being pecked to death by a duck!

I turned back around, looked at Simon and heard myself exclaim, "Simon! How bout I just pull some juice out of my bunghole for you?!"

At that very moment, a hush fell over the car. The baby paused in her screaming. Simon stared silently at me. Chris' eyes grew wide. And I heard a quiet voice in the way back of the van. The voice of my four-year-old son. He said, "Bunghole." And then he chuckled.






- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Confessions

Sometimes I hide yummy treats so that I can eat them while the kids are napping and I don't have to share.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Shout Out to my Capitalist Peeps!

Is it that Communism is spreading? Or, have I merely discovered the source of the Communist scourge in my home?

Yesterday, I offered my husband a marshmallow Peep. He refused, saying, "I don't like Peeps."

WHAT???

He doesn't like Peeps??? Why, that's un-American! That's just wrong! (note that "wrong" and "un-American" are basically the same thing). Not liking Peeps is like saying that you don't like apple pie! It's like saying that your favorite colors aren't red, white and blue! It's like saying that the gospel of democracy shouldn't be spread to all peoples through the use of force, regardless of whether or noy they desire it. Gosh, not liking Peeps is just like saying, "Nah, freedom just isn't for me, yo." What in the world is up with that???

So, in honor of the peeps of the good ol' US of A, I've decided to dedicate this post to educating all you good Amerkins about marshmallow Peeps.





According to Wikipedia, Peeps are made from marshmallow, corn syrup, gelatin, and carnauba wax (whatever that is)... They are produced by Just Born, a candy manufacturer founded in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania by Russian immigrant Sam Born. In 1953, Just Born acquired the Rodda Candy Company and its marshmallow chick line, then turned the tedious process of hand-forming the chicks to mass production. Can you imagine hand-forming them??? I bet that my friend Rachel would do it. She makes things like homemade Oreo cookies. She rocks like that.

The yellow chicks were the original form of the candy, but then the company introduced other colors and, eventually, the myriad shapes in which they are now produced. Did you know that Peeps now come in shapes and colors to fit into ALL of your holiday celebrations? Well, they do! Now, that's good ol' Amerkin capitalism for ya, there! Now, there are pink Peeps, blue Peeps, and even CHOCOLATE-DIPPED PEEPS! Oh, baby, yeah! Plus, there are marshmallow bunnies, pumpkins, ghosts and kitties for halloween- and CHOCOLATE-DIPPED PUMPKINS! Oh, yes, the chocolate! AND, there are snowmen, reindeer, Christmas trees, and other designs for Christmas, including CHOCOLATE!!! And, what better way to say "I love you," than by giving your sweetie a valentine-themed marshmallow treat, also available in CHOCOLATE!?

I am telling you, fellow Amerkins, Peeps deserve an award for being so gee-golly Amerkin. I mean, look at them! Not only have they capitalized on the success of the original marshmallow Peeps by making other shapes that make it possible to purchase them year-round, but you can also get them covered in CHOCOLATE!!! Truly, it takes Amerkin innovation and creativity to come up with such an ingenious idea. I LOVE IT!!!

And, why do I love it so much, you may ask? Because I'm an Amerkin! (not a communist like my husband).

If you'd like more information about Peeps, check out their website at peeps.com, or google peeps images. There are some great pictures online!

Here are a few that I liked:




Lookit the pretty colors...




The new spokesman for cigarettes. Watch out, Marlboro Man...




Does anyone else remember this episode of Star Trek? If you've never seen it, you've got to check out "Trouble With Tribbles" on YouTube. It's my very favorite episode!




Is it considered child abuse to make a child look so delicious?




D'oh!

Weird Mama

I was in my early twenties when I had a life-altering conversation with my sister. We were sitting around, and she looked at me and said, "You know, Dad's kinda weird."

"Yeah," I said. "Mom is, too, don't you think?"

"Yeah."

It was then that I realized that not everyone's parents were like mine. I had only ever experienced my own parents, and up until that moment, it had never occurred to me that my experience was any different than those of my friends. Now, since both my parents will probably read this blog, I will point out that perhaps the reason that it took me so long to come to this realization was because my parents were never obvious oddballs. They're just different (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).

Now I can't help wondering when my children will realize that what they consider "normal" may not be...quite so much. Some day, my children wil indeed look at me and come to the realization that other kids' parents may not be the same as theirs. They may even realize that their mother is, dare I say, WEIRD???

A Pat on the Back

Today, I was sitting on the floor next to Simon, when he looked at me and gave me a nice pat on the back. "Good Mama," he said, in the same tone that I would use towards a dog that finally went outside instead of piddling on the rug. Perhaps he figures that maybe I'm finally getting the hang of this whole Mama bit, and he wants to give me some positive feedback so that I'll keep up the good work. Or, maybe he was surprised because I finally got something right. Whatever his reason for saying it, it sure made my day.