And, of course, this whole time she's throwing this hissy fit, Tyler's acting up, trying to draw my attention away from the screaming, flailing, attempting to strip her clothes off baby.
Can I get a restraining order against all these people in my house? Large and small?
I've been assaulted and would like to lodge a formal complaint.
I woke up to swearing this morning. And you know, if we are swearing at 7 o' clock in the morning... it's going to be a bad day. Turns out, Tyler had lobbed a toy at Dad's full coffee cup, and he, (Tim not Tyler) ended up wearing hot coffee well before breakfast. Which as you know, is a fashion faux pas.
Speaking of fashion mistakes, as many of you know, before 10am, all you're going to see me in is a long T-shirt and underwear. (Unless I have a WIC appointment) Well, it's laundry time, which means I'm wearing old, ill fitting underwear. Today, a pair I bought years before having children, a pair with a picture of Cookie Monster blasted across the front. (Not the pair in the picture, but close) The only worse wardrobe choice would have been a bra with Blue's Clues on it. I've spent all morning fending off small children like the only girl at a frat party.
My solution, break my own rule and put on a pair of pants and try to distract their attention with popcorn shrimp. Nothing like a little crispety crunchety goodness to make the mob forget about my underwear.
I figure if it works for the husband, it'll work for the kids.
Well, it worked... but with mouthfuls of crustatean, they were off to the next adventure.
Tyler climbs atop the DVD player in his room to get the night light, and then sips and spits the contents of his sippy cup onto his sister. This is a tactic I've seen used by kids I used to babysit. If you get rid of all the water, maybe the next cupful will be juice. I thought this was an ingenious move by the kid the first time I saw it, until I realized it was a widely used practice. Inplicable logic, annoying, to be sure, but smart.
I wonder if he's using that intelligence to home brew moonshine in his room when his sister can't seem to walk across a stable, flat surface without bonking into something or falling down this morning. Doubly concerning when this morning seems to be chosen for the Great Baby Race of 2010.
Tim left for recycling already. I think he decided the atmosphere in the house was too much to handle. That is SO okay with me, who wants to deal with two toddlers who've gone completely insane AND a husband who wont stop sighing and groaning.
Remember when we were teenagers, and the solution to a situation that was too frustrating to handle was to just run away from home? Nothing a couple nights of sleeping rough and making your parents worry wont fix. Can we do that now? I think the whole gang might find a new appreciation for me if they had to do everything their damn selves for a few days. Arg.
And what EXACTLY is he doing to her to make her scream like that? It reminds me of the old "I'm not touching you!" bullshit that my brother used to do to me. He'll get right in his sister's face and say, "Bugagagaga!" and the response in a shriek so loud and high pitched, it nearly peels the paint off the walls.
She's pooping right now, so I have to leave her alone. But it's funny to watch her go hide in a secluded corner as her eyes redden and get all watery.
I ask Tyler lightheartedly, "Is Sissy pooping?" and he yells, "NO SISSY POOP!" and throws something at her. So he gets a warning, (I'm the queen of warnings) and I go to try to calm her down. We make pony noises with her My Little Ponies for a moment, and then she grabs a Little People camel. "I don't know what kind of noise a camel makes, honey." I admit sheepishly. Apparently, this is a fatal flaw in my parenting which is answered by more screaming and punctuated by trying to destroy the vertical blinds for emphasis. When these efforts to express her true feelings for my inability to create camel noises fail, she tries wholeheartedly to pull off her pants and diaper, as if peeing on the carpet will be her ultimate statement of how incompetent of a mother I really am.
At this point I really need the Dr. Pepper my husband bought for me yesterday. I escape to the kitchen to finish off the half empty bottle of caffinated goodness. Well, the kids, who have seen a soft drink maybe a total of twice in the entirety of their short little lives, start chanting "Soda!, SODA! SODA!" I try to chug it down before they pressure me into giving them some, (which they SO OBVIOUSLY don't need) but I'm not a big soda drinker, and the carbonation nearly makes my eyeballs explode.
I guess it's just one of those days, where the kids need to remind me who's really in charge here.
What noise does a camel make anyways?