I have to tell you a terrible thing.

Ok, I’m just gonna say it.

Here we go.

This.

THIS MONSTROSITY.

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This is on my dresser at home. I think it’s a ring cup? Or maybe a small weapon?

I am not sure. When Red brought it to me, he had it cupped in his teeny tiny little hobbit hands and I figured, “Oh look, the sweet boy has something precious for me. A gift. A trinket. Like, five thousand dollars. Or perhaps a piece of Dubble Bubble.”

And then, he opened his little fingers and I gasped and kind of shrank away.

Guys, there are mom moments where we just have to step UP and be brave. We have to soldier on. We have to make it or break it. We have to be all we can be.

And guys? That moment? With the weird pointy clay nest of doom? Was so not my moment.

Instead, I shrank away. There was actual SHRINKING.

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Look, I get it, seven year old. I get it that your idea of coordinating something is off key humming of the theme from Ninjago with matching underpants.

I get it that your idea of cleaning something is laying a tiny piece of torn-off paper towel ON the un-clean thing and sort of flicking at it, like the mess is just going to go, “Oh, I’m sorry! Am I in the way? Well, here, let me just clean myself out of here!”  Also, if this is done while humming the theme from Ninjago and in only underpants, BONUS POINTS.

I GET it that you think ambiance is a type of car.

I GET IT, OK?

But I just… I can’t… I mean, really? REALLY?

This thing looks like the spawn of craft time at the special hospital.

I just can’t… It is POKEY. It POKES me.

And, it’s on my dresser. With rings in it. Because, as God is my witness, the kid asked me ‘You are going to put this on your dresser, right, Mommah?”

Oh, he knew. He knew the stabby-dish was heading for its own burial. The kind where you stick it wayyyy down into the trash so no child will know, and also to suffocate it so it doesn’t come lurching back to life and try to kill you in the middle of the night.

Listen. I kept the endless horribly inaccurate Star Wars drawings. I have oodles and oodles of paper decorated with Cheerios and macaroni and all sorts of other carbs.

I even kept the drawing that you brought to me, and I said, “Ohhhh, look! It’s a horsie!” And you said,
“NO MOMMAH IT’S JESUS DYING ON THE CROSS. SEE? DER’S THE BLOOD.”

Yep. I kept it. Jesus on the cross is up there in my gigantic box labeled Craptastic Art Work. I kept it. I won’t ever probably look at it again, or if I do, I’ll be so old I won’t even remember having children in the first place. “Oh, look!” I’ll say, all old and creaky, “It’s a horsie. On the cross.”

But someday… someday mutant jewely holder, you are gonna be saying hello to the Big Trash Compacter in the Sky. I know my limits.

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Birthday Boy

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My son just asked me if we could build Tatoinne in our living room.

Also, I am now looking up on the youtubes how to put the buns in the sides of mah hair. Because Princess Leia, you know.

Also, Darth Vader will be coming over, Saturday. I do hope the house will be tidy enough. He likes a tidy house.

Also, I am now trying to staple Yoda ears to the dog.

Ok, just kidding about that last part but the doggie Yoda ears are sooooo cute and they will not STAY ON because preshums doggums keeps shaking his doggie head.

HE IS MESSING WITH MY PLAN.

Birthdays follow a basic template. It goes like this:

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I can’t help it. I have this weird propensity to always say, “Let’s just keep it simple,” and then something in my brain sort of snaps and fizzles and I start creating a Death Star out of paper mache and hope. Red’s birthday is Saturday and I’ve been tweeting at Harrison Ford for TWO days now to make a surprise appearance and he STILL hasn’t gotten back to me.

Here is the culprit behind all this:

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The bat costume is there because I was in a hurry and couldn’t find a picture of him without a costume. Also, we do costumes a lot around here. Keeps it real.

But, the cuteness? Don’t let it distract you. He’s a master at manipulation.

I must go. Tatoinne wasn’t built in a day, you know.

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Let That Be a Lesson To You

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Criminal A and B.

 

 

Every Wednesday night my church has a great event called His Kids, where seven million children alight upon our little brick church and play, eat, run about, and learn about Jesus.

Ok, not seven million. But it’s a lot.

My children, when they were small and adorable, used to call Wednesday His Kids, “Biscuits!!  It’sa da Biscuits night!” This would become even more compounded in meaning if the church meal there WAS actually biscuits and gravy, and my poor boys were swimming in biscuits all over da place.

This was so cute that I never actually corrected it, and to this day my children seem to link church going to flaky baked goods with honey.

There are worse things.

Last Wednesday night, His Kids was wrapping up, and I was attempting to get two boys in coats and boots and out the door before we hit the dreaded It’s Way Past Your Bedtime, and Your Mom Gets Grumpy deadline.

As I headed out the the car, I spotted them, running way ahead, down the sidewalk, to the car, past the car, and they Just. Kept. Going.

Let’s just say that right then is when I passed the Grumpy deadline. Inside, I had warned them, quite calmly, with a lovely and firm but soothing Mom voice: “Boys, head straight to the car. It’s Way Past Your Bedtime. If you stay up much longer you implode with exhaustion and hyperactivity with help from all those Starbursts you ate after diner.  And I am feeling a grump coming on… it’s a small tickle in the back of my throat, so we best get home. Now.”

As I watched them run past the car with only the roadrunner glee that a four and a six year old can, I thought,

“Humph. They are going to learn a lesson.”

So, I got in my car and drove away.

Now, before you start trying to figure out how to call the cops on a mom blogger, just know this: I didn’t LEAVE-leave… I slipped around the back, silent and stealthy as an unmarked vehicle, and pulled in the side. I sat there for about thirty seconds, giving Red and Blonde just long enough to realize I was gone, and then tears and repentance and all that.

I peered around, to the front of the church, looking for two very sad and sorrowful boys who will never, ever disobey again, like ever.

Instead, I saw two small boys who were sprinting like mini Usain Bolts, and they had a three block head start on me. They were going home. By themselves. At eight o’clock at night.

And, then, I spotted it: They were gleeful.

I was told later that at least two members of my church reported back that “Red and Blonde are out running down Lincoln street! Danger! Danger! And, WHERE IS THEIR MOTHERRRRRR??”

I followed them. I kept praying, “Lord, sometime along the way, could some sort of freaking out occur? Could they get cold or get attacked by a stray cat or something.” I sighed. “Somehow, please, could this whole thing not turn out to be an awesome field trip of wonderfulness? Could we have some misery at some point? Please, Lord?”

Nope. They were absolutely thrilled. When I finally pulled in and revealed my cover – Blonde ran to me, cheeks all red and eyes twinkling,

“Mom! Hey, where were you? We started home acuz you left and we ARE ALMOST THERE and I watched at each stweet and lookits both ways! I was very careful!”

Red interjected with a small jazzstep and some “vroom vroom” noises, and then shouted, “DIS. IS. SO. AWESOME!”

I had prepared a long speech for them. I opened my mouth. I shut it. And then I growled, “Your father will talk to you about this when we get home.”

“Okay! But… canna we walk the rest of the way? Dis is fun!”

Well. Let that be a lesson to you.

 

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Let’s Grade Halloween on a Curve

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It’s best to remember here that most of the time, we live in la-la land.

What I mean is, we are always expecting things to go a certain way. And by “we” I think it’s best to just get it out of the way and say, “me.”

Like, I expect to go to the store. Simple enough. It should go like this:

1. Get money.

2. Go to store.

3. Buy stuff.

4. Come home.

 

But INSTEAD, this is what occurs:

1. Money not available because lost wallet.

2. Lost wallet because children. Children move things. However, when “helping look” they move one pillow. One.

3. Um, yelling.

4. Eat popcorn and pickles for lunch because no other food here.

5. Children thrilled. Back to moving all things in the house to wrong places.

6.  Lots of muttering and looking under things for the rest of the afternoon.

7. Wallet found under cat. Must check later if he went online shopping with my Visa again.

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Googling: “World dominashun”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I would like to state for the record that I had the best of intentions with Red’s costume. After much deliberation on his part he final decision for this year was a spider. A SUPER spider. I accepted without hesitation because for two weeks I had to field possibilities such as:

The human heart. With da bentricles!

Maybe a Batman guy? but a BAD one? (Possible, if you counted the costume as poorly made. That’s do-able.)

T-REX EATING SUMTHIN!!! LOTSA BLOOD!

 

We then had to go over this yearly gem of a tedious and horrible rule at our house:  We don’t do spooky. We are unspooky Halloweeners. Life is spooky enough without us putting some fake blood and a machete in the hands of a six year old. We just don’t go there.

This, of course, always merits a fun game of

SPOOKY? NOT SPOOKY?

Wee innocent babies: Der zombies? Spooky?

Momsie: Spooky.

Wee ones: Frankenswine!

Momsie: Spooky! but that’s cute!

Mummies?

Spooky.

Da werenwolves?

Spooky.

Dose things on TV? All the time?

Political candidates?

Yep!

SPOOKY.

 

You get the idea. Once Red finally offered his spider idea, and then followed it up with a full five minute description as how “da spiders? Dey are our FRIENDS! Eating insects, spinning all those webs, dey hardly ever, EVER come outta nowhere and attack, suck the blood right outta you and KILL you!” Very convincing argument.

But then I realized – spiders have, like, a bunch of legs and stuff.  I realized I was once again perilously close to the land of Overzealous Mom Fail. This is a scary place that I tend to visit at least once a month or so, usually around the time of the school fun fair (“Sure! I’ll decorate a cake for the cake walk! No problem!) or for a Mom’s Day Out (“I would LOVE to make four pans of something casseroley and delicious and not at all gluey or seasoned with despair and lack of confidence!”)

The Land of Overzealous Mom Failures is littered with sad Halloween costumes from those of us who know how to use a needle and thread, we just don’t really know how to use them effectively.  And we like shortcuts.

So I have a spider now, with duct-taped legs that thwack limply against my poor son’s “spider adobem” and even the fangs I drew on him are lopsided. If this spider could talk, he would lisp. But who’s to say, spiders don’t lisp? Maybe they do. Or some do. Poor things.  Maybe… I’m the spider whisperer for all spiders with speech impediments. Yea me!

 

 

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*No spiders were harmed in the making of this post. In fact, I would like to go one step further and suggest that I am now the protector of all spiders who are “special.” And my spider is adorable. AND VERY DARN SPECIAL!

** Couldn’t tell you why Blonde wanted one leg up, one down on his alien costume. It’s one of his pieces of flare, I guess.

 

Happy Belated Halloween, ya’ll.

I will make homemade Halloween costumes until they rip the glittered rik-rak and googley eyes out of my cold, tired hands.