Santa came. And then the vomit came. My experience over the last several years is that vomit is the price you pay for a visit from Santa. Maybe we have some special reindeer allergy or something. But it's about as regular as St. Nick's visit itself.

It's been a week since I've written. Since then we've hosted a Christmas Eve party, went to Midnight Mass, arranged St. Nick's benevolence, did Christmas, did Christmas at my parents house, cleaned up vomit, watched Baby clean up in a soccer tournament, went to a rehearsal dinner (an hour away from our home), got all my family members of the wedding party to their scheduled locations at the assigned times (unlike the rest of the party....I really need to remember that schedules during weddings are nothing if not fluid) got X-Man, Mac and Cinco and myself dressed and out the door for a wedding over an hour away (the father figure and the older girls were already there, left in two separate caravans) and survived and marathon of a wedding. In case you think I exaggerate, I give you a two hour wedding ceremony. Ok fine, it was an hour and fifty minutes...I rounded. It's impressive that I myself made it through, but considering I had X-Man and Cinco at nap time (the happy couple chose to ignore the memos I sent concerning their wedding choices. I'm still confused as to why they did not factor my needs into their wedding planning.) The father figure was a groomsman, and although both he and my brother in law had a great plan that involved them sneaking off to assist their wives with the fruit of their....well you know, both ended up sitting in the front row sans children. That was until I marched up there and dropped X-Man in the father figure's lap. Much like he had done to me just around three years ago. Not that X-Man wasn't actually being very well behaved, especially as hour two rolled around and he was still napless. However, at some point Cinco figured out that I was not holding her, and that just didn't sit right with the young lady. In the end, X-Man watered my corsage in the drinking fountian while Cinco licked whatever makeup I had still on my face. Just in time for pictures.

Not that the week was over. There was a cocktail hour to head to. And then a formal dinner. And then dancing. And then more vomit. And then a twelve year wedding anniversary. And then more vomit.

This is why I have not written for a week. Lovely as almost every event was in actuality, I hope to never have another week like it again in my life.

It's not been a good "holiday" time. At least as far as accomplishing much of anything. I haven't baked anything at all. Supposedly I'll do something tonight, but I just want to curl up and nod off.

Not that I've been taking it easy or anything. I did finish an annual project I oversee every year. It seems to be getting bigger and more complicated, but I am certain that the addition of more mobile children to the mix certainly isn't helping. Neither are either one of the abscesses I've managed to develop. It's very important to me, for reasons I can't explain, I make it clear that neither one of these teeth had cavities. Which made this situation even more special. Of course, due to my life looking like it does, I only bothered to go in to the dentist after I developed a huge lump on my jaw. Nothing life waiting until the last minute has passed. And your insurance changes so that which would have cost nothing out of pocket now most definitely costs.

So this is how I found myself in Trader Joe's instantly regretting numerous life choices. The trigger for this particular moment was letting X-Man have his own child sized shopping cart. The chaos surprised even me. He wasn't interested in following me but he was more than happy to race through the aisles yelling "Guys guys with meeeeee!!!! And so I found myself chasing after X-Man, while pushing Cinco in a cart weaving through the crowds. Next stop was the Dollar Tree because I've given up and am throwing all gifts in bags. The Dollar Tree does not have little shopping carts but does have penguins. X-Man determined that penguins would be an acceptable substitute and he should hold ALL the penguins. I was of the opinion that he should hold NONE of the penguins. Epic meltdown commenced.


I have blocked most of it out, but I do distinctly remember saying "Santa does not come for young men who bite their mothers!" It did not make an impact. X-Man was so forceful in his rage that the lady ahead of me let me cut in front of her. She complimented me on my patience. I didn't tell her it was most likely the drugs due to my root canal.

And that seems to sum up how this month has been going. Found myself threatening to shoot Santa out of the sky if he ignored my instructions to stay away. Baba casually mentioned that I say that every year. I didn't remember threatening Santa's well being before, but apparently I have. Which I guess means that I'm not abnormally overwhelmed. And they're not being abnormally naughty. That's not really comforting.

I've tried to start this blog at least three times. It's not happening. Not for lack of material, no my kids all still live with me. But mostly because I'm so overwhelmed by it being December and all. I've tried making to do lists, but so far all I've done is count to purple. 

Today I made the following observations. 

Cinco really, really wants to lick the chimney. I don't know why. She will tolerate licking the oven, but only while I am cooking dinner. I'm not sure what it is that draws her, clearly not the stainless steal cleaner, well....knowing my kids perhaps they are putting stainless steal cleaner on the chimney. 

Cinco loves wrapping paper. She does not approve of wrapping paper on rolls. She believes strongly that it should remove it from them. And then rip it into tiny pieces so that it cannot be returned to the roll. 

The only place better to leave your swimming attire than the hardwood floors is the brand new furniture. Also, Mac swimming looks exactly like you think it will. Except even less refined. 

Cinco is impossibly cute. And poopy. Very, very poopy. In addition, it's alarming how much she eats. Very little of it, judging from her diapers, is actually food. 

It would be better if X-Man would stop feeding his tangerine peels to Cinco. 

McDonalds coffee drinks are buy one get one free. There's a reason for that. 

Baby and Baba talked me into buying pink cowboy boots for Cinco. I realized that I had failed to buy Cinco anything for Christmas. Oh, Santa is coming for her. But I figured that as I recently recovered the chimney, she had everything she need. Now she will eat the chimney while weaing pink cowboy boots. 

I have 75 homework assignments in my inbox. On Monday I had 5. Also, I'm pretty sure the father figure is having a birthday very soon. 

I'm tired. 

Cinco is eight months old today. Eight months. She also stood by herself. Baba tried to get her to walk. Santa is not coming for Baba anymore.

I woke the father figure up this morning to ask him what time he had to leave for work. I kinda knew the answer, it was in ten minutes. Then he helpfully informed me that since he had not gotten up earlier, I would have to drive him to work, for the fourth week in a row. Apparently, he was willing to try to drive his car if he had enough time for it to die and me come bail him out. But now, not so much. He's also decided he wants to buy a new car, but as we have spent ALL THE MONIES on fixing the paperweight in the driveway....ugh.

So that's how my Monday started.

Delving into the day, a student failed to call. But don't worry, I wasn't left without things to do!

While I waited for a student to call, X-Man removed all the bows from the newly wrapped packages under the tree. Cinco then ate them. Baba yelled at him and he head butted her. I told them to eat breakfast. X-Man yells "A Homas??!!!?" So I turn on Thomas the Tank Engine on to buy me five minutes.

As I was mixing up Baby's medicine that she needs to take with breakfast, I heard Cinco gagging. I run out to the living room. There, sitting in front of the TV are X-Man and Cinco. X-Man has a bowl of Honey Nut Ohs. I don't know where he got them. He has put of pile of these large cereal pieces in front of Cinco. They are attempting to eat them together. Cinco is not succeeding. I grab the ohs, Cinco starts crying and I try to tell X-Man that he is a very nice big brother to share, but Cinco can't eat these. I am picking up the cereal off the floor, meanwhile Cinco crawls over to the table where I put the bowl and begins to eat again. And gag.

Ok, death averted. Baba comes up "Mom the toilet won't flush right." Ok, go investigate. Hmm....previous owners gerryrigged it with a safety pin, that has now rusted through. Ok. Hmm...this in going to have to wait. Baby is yelling at me that she's hungry and wants to eat. Need to finish mixing her medicine. And hand out vitamins. Why aren't you all sitting at the table like I said to. Here have some vitamins. Yes yes X-Man that's my coffee cup. Thanks for drinking out of it. Oh you're offering it to me now, thanks. Have a vitamin.

I know it's a gummy vitamin, but you only get the one. Stop screaming for more. Where's Cinco....oh you're crawling up the stairs, while eating a hairbrush. Wow, you got skills. You're going to sit in the swing. Who did I just bump into? Personal space people! Oh it's X-Man, with my coffee cup...again. How did you get that? Thanks, I know it's yum! I also know I had more in it than is now....great. Now what was I doing?

Why are you bellowing Mac? Oh, there's no soap in the bathroom? There is too. I filled up the dispenser three days ago, how much do you people use? But I really don't think I should complain about copious soap usage. Of course, if the father figure wasn't allergic to olive oil, I could use my friend's handcrafted soaps, that last forever....but NOOOO......

Wait, why are Baby and Baba the only ones watching Thomas the Tank Engine? We're turning this off. Clean up the breakfast dishes and start school. Oh and figure out which presents the pile of bows in front of the tree go with. Why is X-Man on the counter? Ah, you want more vitamins. No, not going to happen. Go ahead and yell, but no.

Why is Cinco almost out of her swing? What do you mean she knows how to get out? Since she figured she can pop the tray up using her knees...great. Well let's put her here in a pile of toys, that should hold her attention for ninety seconds. Why is Baby crying? How did you hit your head? Oh, spinning around in the kitchen when you were supposed to be cleaning it. Of course. Why is there water on the floor? Ah, X-Man finished his drink and threw the rest on the ground. How very Lonely Island of him.

You know, instead of yelling "Mommy you need to see this" just tell me what it is. Why is my coffee all over the ground? Why is Gestated Cinco splashing in it? I'll answer your math question while I'm mopping this up Baba. And yes Mac, today is the sort of day that you need to wear clothes.

That's a good question to ask Baba, oh look Cinco found the Christmas tree again! What X-Man, you need to go potty? Ok good boy let's go! Let me just move Cinco away from the tree, oh she's got a good handful of the tree. I'm coming X-Man! Please take your pants off before getting on the potty. Whatever Cinco, just don't eat anything.

Yay! You went potty!!! Good work. And now everyone's going to come admire your work. Yeah, that's what this bathroom needed. Oh look, Cinco decided to get in on the fun. Alright, let's get you some candy X-Man, and Cinco is so horrified by the state of the bathroom she's taken it upon her self to get all the cleaning products out.

Should I be ambitious and put underwear on X-Man, sure why not? That's can't back fire on me. Let's settle down in the office and get going on school. Ok Mac and Baby are doing their math, everything ok. I should probably check on X-Man. And make sure the kitchen was cleaned. While I'm out here I should start a load of laundry. Why is Cinco screaming? Oh look she got her head stuck in the legs of a chair in the school room. Wow, how do I get you out of here without hurting you more? Hmm....why is X-Man screaming?

Oh yeah, I turned off Thomas a half hour ago. What's that smell....oh you pooped your underwear. You were sitting on the potty ten minutes ago!!!!! Back to the potty, pass Cinco in the hall. Remember she's not in the school room anymore, need to check her quickly.....

X-Man stay on the potty, mommy be right back. Cinco where are you. Oh you're under the kitchen table.....with a pile of cereal. Where'd that come from? What do you mean X-Man just peed on the floor? He's sitting on the potty. Oh, no, he followed me to the kitchen, because Cinco was getting into his stash of cereal. And peed on the floor.

Mac where did you get the doorknob to a cabinet? Took it out of Cinco's mouth. X-Man gave it to her. Great.

Wait...is that sharpie on my brand new hardwood floor?

That's the first hour of my day.......

So we put the Christmas tree up. Because, for a brief moment, I forgot that I have an eight month old and a two year old. A two year old who is currently standing on the table fighingt his chicken nuggets. Go ahead and judge me. I'm too busy judging Mac's dance moves. He wants to know if I would give him "fives." I guess so. I've kept him in swimming and soccer as much as possible because the boy needs to burn all his excess energy. It had not occurred to my to turn dance music on. This could actually work well for me.

X-Man is having a ball with the Christmas tree. And by ball I mean taking the glass ball ornaments off the tree. And throwing them on the hardwood floor. And then crying when they break. He convinced that it's an evil trick on my part and that if he just throws the right one it will not break. Yeah.

I've made it clear that X-Man and I are at an impasse as to how he should behave when his wishes are thwarted. And when it comes to the Christmas tree, what we have is a failure to communicate. Actually, we communicate just fine, it's that neither one of us wants to hear what the other is saying. X-Man clearly is sick of hearing "DON'T TOUCH THE TREE!" And I'm tired of hearing "MY MISMIS!"

He has the same reaction to me saying no in these circumstances as any other circumstance. He tries to hit me. Now, we've tried time outs, we've tried mommy holding his hands, we've tried gentle redirection, we've tried standing in the corner, we've tried yelling "You don't hit Mommy!" I'm bowling zero right now. And pretty much every time I go, but that's a different tale of woe.

So, I tried a new tactic, the duck and weave. He tried to hit, I jumped backwards. He looked doubly annoyed. Which is odd, since I'm the adult here and he's the temper tantruming toddler. He flailed away again, I dodged again. Greater rage, accentuated with a slight shriek of anger. I was hoping to distract him out of his tantrum and thought I could get him to chase me. He took one look at me scurrying away and collapsed in front of the Christmas tree wailing. Full on child prostrate on the floor, head in hands, big old tears pooling on the hardwood.

Cinco has been taking notes and often does the exact opposite of X-Man. Whereas X-Man's default reaction is weeping, wailing and ragey, Cinco just laughs. Crawling away from mommy during a poopy diaper change. cue the maniacal laughter. Pull the empty hamper down, crawl in it and get stuck and scream, first in rage and then decide it's funny. Because an empty hamper in this house is really that funny an oddity. Pull yourself up into a standing position anywhere in the house, alert mom with your laughter, proudly proclaiming your great strength. Climb up the stairs and get stuck....better not say anything because mom will probably get mad.

So Cinco joined in the fray. Shrieking with laughter from across the room, which drew a reproachful glance from her older brother, she decided that what this needed was some hands on loving from her. So she sped her way across the floor, seriously this child hauls diaper like no one before her, and went to comfort the poor abused X-Man. And by comfort, I mean crawl onto his back and pull his hair. I figured he had it coming. Somehow not being able to hit his mother is life ending, but his baby sister mauling him, well that's hilarious. "Mama, baby silly." Yeah, she's not the only one son.

I'd continue on the odd behavior of my children, but I think the father figure is annoyed with me. I asked him to watch Cinco while I wrote this. I only roped him into it after she helpfully unplugged my computer, attempted to eat the cord and then deleted half a page of my work. Apparently having to watch his offspring is off putting to the father figure because he's retaliating by trying to get Cinco to walk. They are all conspiring against me.

Today we're observing a fun game called "Well Played X-Man."

Misbehave in church and lose your doughnut privilege. Decide you need to use the potty, reveal a completely dry diaper and indeed use the potty. Hop off the potty and ask "noughnut mommy?"
Well Played X-Man.

Lay in bed and start screaming. Continue to scream until Mac comes to get mommy. Scramble up the ladder to the top bunk. Pretend to be sleeping when mommy come to your rescue.
Well Played X-Man.

Give Baba a kiss. Give her a second one. Pucker up your lips for a third. When she leans in, lick her face. Chortle in glee when she screams.
Well Played X-Man.

Climb into the bath tub. Scream when removed. Chase after daddy as he leaves the house. Face plant in the garden. Requiring bath.
Well Played X-Man.

See that mommy and daddy are leaving. Race after mommy to give her a big hug and kiss. Push yourself out the door yelling "bye Daddy!" but immediately divert to the large pile of snow yelling "missmiss!!!"  Yell "I want missmiss" when carried back inside.
Well Played X-Man.

Get angry at mom. Hit her. While hitting her yell "High five mommy."
Well Played X-Man.

If it was physically possible to drop kick a Pontiac Trans Am....I would have done it by now.

A rookie mistake when parenting is being overly ambitious. And being foolish enough to start special traditions with your kids, because when there's one of them it's easy and seems fun. Then you wake up one morning, and it's 15 degrees outside, five kids and a whole bunch of empty shoes to fill.

I like the St. Nicholas tradition. When I had two kids, I used it as a time to give them new shoes for Christmas. And that was very exciting for them. When that got to be a bit challenging, timewise, sizewise, moneywise, I downsized to Christmas socks or slipper socks  or something festive. Accompanying all gifts was some chocolate and treats.

Suddenly it was December 5th and Baba oh so helpfully reminded everyone else that they needed to leave their shoes out. And of course they all left a pair out not the one as dictated by tradition. Baba even made sure that Cinco had her shoes out.

And so I came to one of the hardest decisions for me to date. Do I write a letter purportedly from St. Nicholas chastising the absurdly over the top shenanigans of my children, or do I allow the good saint to stay in favor with my children and I do my dirty work myself. I have to say, that's a very unpleasant thought.

It's not that I have bad children. It's just that in my family we celebrate Festivus every single day. There are feats of strength that inevitably result in the airing of grievances, loudly and angrily. And then engage in more feats of strength to express how truly grieved they are by....whatever.

It's gotten so bad that Baby was shrieking in the middle of the kitchen "MOOOOOM! Baba isn't cleaning the kitchen! " (It's a joint chore) Of course Baba was taking the recycling out as part of cleaning the kitchen and Baby pounced on the opportunity to be grieved. At this point Baby is in gold medal contention.

I made Mac brush his teeth and change his underwear. While not as grievous as the washing of X-Man's face I engaged in, Mac was broken up over the need to remove his Batman underwear....BATMAN Mom!!!!

The girls have to share a bedroom. Yet both seem to be insulted by the possibility of eye contact. Although they present a united front if the boys try to enter their room. Unless.....there is possibility of a large uproar if Baba gives Mac permission to come in while Baby rages.

Back and forth. Louder and more obnoxious. The bickering escalates until I loudly decree that if they have oxygen with which to fight, it means they aren't working hard enough around the house. While this doesn't end the squabbling, it does reduce it to mere hissing.

Then, as I'm cleaning up the office, I stumble upon a pile of Christmas cards that Baby's made for everyone in the family. They were next to the book Baba's writing for Mac. So, the tirade from St. Nick was shelved for another year.

I've been trying extra hard to be a good mother. So that means making sure to read every night to the boys. It does not go well. Mac wants only one story, The Boy Who was Followed Home. Then he has to talk about how unfortunate his life is as he, being homeschooled, is not presented with the opportunity to be followed home from school by any assortment animals.

X-Man has his own approach. He likes me to read him his Lightening McQueen story. He loves both the race car and Mater. And he knows the story. The problem is, I don't. It's not that I can't read. It's that X-Man has clearly told himself a story, narrated by the pictures. When I try to read the words, he gets annoyed. And frustrated. He'll take the book from my hands, narrate the story, rather unintelligibly I'm afraid, and hand the book back to me. He has a look of expectation as I begin again. And do it wrong again. After grabbing the book a few more times, he settles himself into my lap and retells the story more emphatically. Again, I fail to tell the story correctly, or, sadly, understand his story. Eventually, he took my fingers in his hand and pointed them emphatically at both cars, more incoherent babbling and jabbing. And frustration.

You might think the solution would be to read a different book. That is entirely unacceptable however. I am to read the story he has in his mind to him. It's not working.

I also learned that not one but two children can scream during an hour long car trip through rush hour traffic and still not sleep that night. And that it is difficult to drive one handed, while holding a phone that is playing NetFlix. I guess complaining about the lack of streaming capabilities during a rush hour drive might just be first world of me, but man, it was chaos as I have never experienced it. And that, folks, is saying something.

Mac and I assembled Ikea furniture today. We rock. X-Man helped. Mostly with adding decorative gouges to the cabinet with a screwdriver. It was a nice touch. He's so darn cute I keep forgetting that he's a maniac.

Our couch finally arrived. I've left X-Man semi-unattended. As I was helping the guys getting it in, X-Man was attempting to mark the new chairs with sharpie. Fortunately in his excitement he forgot to remove the cap. He did not, however, forget to remove his diaper.

Cinco is still cutting her upper teeth and wants nothing but me....and my nose.

It's Monday. That means X-Man christened my new furniture, the father figure's car still doesn't run, although it's been "fixed" three times, the police haven't contacted me back about the report I filed. The Christmas gifts I ordered are out of stock, sorry we forgot to update the website.  And I'm out of diaper wipes. In care you're wondering, there's been a plethora of poop today.

Cinco's been crabby and refused to sleep last night. She made sure to keep us informed of her whereabouts all night. Right next to my ear. Never left. Never quit. As I was complaining to a friend, who is helping clear up the chaos of a project I'm supposedly running, I happened to feel a tooth up top her mouth. Context provided. It helped clear things up, especially since the father figure had been insisting that she was feverish and should have Tylenol last night. And by should have, he meant that I should get out of bed and get her some because he most certainly didn't. He was on to something. This also means that this delightful behavior should last another couple of weeks. Wahoo.

Google maps is creepy folks. We used Android tracker to narrow my stolen tablet's location down to approximately twenty meters. Based upon the wifi usage. The father figure pulled up google maps to try to determine which out of the two houses it was most likely at. We saw soccer balls in the front yard and went with that one. While we both indulged in fantasies of ringing the door bell, in this nice middle class neighborhood, and asking if they had stumbled upon a tablet by chance, it's just a little disturbing to know this much about someone. Although, I guess you're asking for your privacy to be violated the minute you stick your hand in someone else's purse.

I'm considering investing in a taser for X-Man. I'm at my wits' end. In the five second it took me to answer Mac's math question, X-Man managed to dump three cereal boxes worth of cereal on the floor of the pantry. He settled himself down and was crushing each piece individually with his fingers. He also opened the oven while dinner was cooking "Wow hot Ma!". He's figured out how to turn off the lock on the water dispenser on the fridge. He had a spectacular temper tantrum involving a sealed box of Cheezits, after the cereal display I don't understand why he thought I'd be allowing him near any open containers, although I could sure use an open container. And he jumped on my back and put me in a sleeper hold while I was working out.

The result was that when reading him his ABCs, I told him that E is for exorcist.

It's been a ragegy day. A horrible infuriating day.

It's especially sad because it was indeed Mac's sixth birthday. I was on a roll. I worked out, made birthday cake pancakes and listened to Mac crow about how many presents he got. I was feeling guilty because it was mostly needed clothing and some school supplies. But he was super excited. Then the girls and I rushed out the door to make it to futsal.

And that's where the day fell apart.

I dropped Baby off at the door of the futsal arena since parking was impossible to find. I turned to see her rushing back out the door in tears. Yup, I'd misread the schedule so her team was walking out the door as we arrived. I felt lousy. Completely awful.

So we did some shopping and returned for Baba's game. Baby was still dressed for her game and Baba's coach jokingly asked me to fill out a waiver to allow her to play with Baba's team as they were missing several people. When he figured out that Baby was already signed up and had promised not to sue anyone, he told her she could play with them. She got very excited, handed me her candy (that I bought her to make her not be too angry at me) and my tablet that she had been playing a game on. And off she went.

The futsal arena is not set up well and is very crowded with lots of jostling and bumping. I had Cinco in the front carrier and my purse over my shoulder. Mac had stayed home with the father figure to play video games for his birthday. I noticed my purse seemed to be getting bumped a lot, but as I always had one child playing I didn't think too much of it. Well, that was stupid. At the end of the game, I discovered that my tablet was gone. Out of my purse, which admittedly, hadn't been properly closed. Lots and lots of rage ensued. Rage that could only be directed towards some invisible evil creepy person. Who steals from a gal holding a baby? Porlandia, it's really not that cool.



Foolishly, I called and turned off service before realizing that I would need service in order to track it. Although that would require the creep who stole it to turn on the gps and I don't see that happening. So before heading off to Mac's family birthday party, I panickly changed passwords on everything.

I can't shake the feeling of being violated. There are pictures of my kids in the hands of some jerk. That's what really frosts me. That entitled thief doesn't have the right to look at my kids. The father figure has listened to me rant about this, and simply smiles. He tried telling me that they've probably already wiped it, but then that leads to ranting about how they have no right to eliminate any videos or pictures of my babies. I'm just very angry.

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Annoyingly, this kept me from delighting in the very good futsal game both Baby and Baba played. I was very proud of Baby as she was playing against girls who were almost three years older than her. Although she came up to the arm pits of many of them, she more than held her own. As she was charging towards a significantly larger girl, Baba's coach leaned over to Baba and said "Your sister's an animal." Baby was very pleased to hear that.

Mac gave me a hug and told me that this was the best day ever. Which really helped. I'm glad that in all the chaos, he had a good day playing games with his dad and hanging with his cousins. He also couldn't believe all the presents he received.

And a cherry on top of the day of not awesomeness that I had, my brother in law gave my son a fart gun for his birthday. Yes, and X-Man has found it. Why do bad things happen to semi good people?

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Tomorrow is Mac's birthday. As I am trying to claw my way out of my turkey coma and survive my Black Friday escapades, I will reflect on Mac. Mac really is the origin of this blog. I would share his exploits on the book of faces and he amused the masses. These are a few of the highlight I have gleaned while trying to hold both X-Man and Cinco. They are both aware of each other's existence and are concerned that I may possible bestow just a smidgen more attention on the other. It's a barrel of monkeys, more literally than one might like.

Mac was the boy that I had to instruct to NOT lick the frozen turkey while we were shopping in Costco. It was only the first of many instructions I was always surprised to have to give. 
"Mac, we do not shoot strangers, especially people trying to watch your sister's soccer game!"
 "Well, he's still alive."


Mac also is the only child, so far, to actually moon the father figure. He's the only one who's woken me up to talk to his hair. 

He's taight me that "get dressed so we can get on to school" meant "sit in the middle of your room and sing....naked."

He went a full day only responding to Robot Destroyer.

He is a fascinating conversationalist. Very often late at night. 
"There are monsters in my room, or, I mean, a robot. There's a big robot in room, and I'm scared. I mean, spiderman. Spiderman is in my room, can I sleep with you?"
Me: "I thought Spiderman was your friend, why are you scared?"
Mac: "Spiderman is in my bed, so I need to sleep with you."

Me, to the loud children, "Unless someone is bleeding or dying, do not interrupt me when I am on the phone." Mac: "Bleeding? Dying? Where?"

"Mom, wanna hear something gross?"  He was offended when I said "not really,"

"Mommy, is there such a thing as burglars?" 
"Yes" 
"I mean in this world, are there burglars?" 
"Yes honey, in this world there are people who come take your stuff without asking." 
"So, is Baby a burglar?"

When speaking to his Grandfather "Do you have any chips?"
"No"
"Do you have any banannas?"
"No"
"Were you robbed?"

Restless night with Mac. He woke me up, wanting to be reassured that there were no such things as vampires and zombies. And the letter "v". And then he couldn't accept that there weren't vampires because they start with "v" and "v" is for real. It became a very complicated conversation.

Baby "when I grow up I'm going to have a baby, be a bride and be a doctor."
Baba "I'm going to be a teacher." 
Mac "I'm going to be a Transformer and my name will be Bonkhead." We'll focus on Baby's life order in the future. 

"Mac can you give mommy a kiss?"

 "Nah, but I can pinch your nose."

"You don't show me you love me with kisses, you give me piggy back rides."

Conversation at 11:15pm....."I wish there were bugs in my room. There aren't any. Not yet." I have made peace with the fact that I am a destroyer of boyhood dreams.

"Mommy, I peed in your bed, so I'm going to go sleep in mine." 

"I'm going to punch you!"
"EXCUSE ME young man, you do not punch your mother." 
"I mean, I'm going to hand you this bowl. Here you go."

"mommy look at the snake I made" 
"Oh, cute" 
"Not cute....SCARY!"

"did you take a rocketship to the moon?.....did you fly in a helicopter that crashed?.... did you fly to outerspace without a rocket?......did you go in the ocean and a robot shark eat you?....well then, where are you?" (Mac's actual phone conversation with his dad, who was away on a business trip)

He is the only child of mine to take off running ahead of me in Target shooting "pew pew" and announcing "I'm making a path for you Mommy!"

After a couple of years of posting Mac stories on facebook, I noticed that the automatic ad generator started to o

ffer me cheap phone calls from prison. So I moved my story telling to this blog. 


A couple of years ago I engaged in the following conversation with Mac.
"Is it my birthday today?" 
"Yes"
"Yay, should I open my presents now?"
"No Mac, we don't open presents at 2:30 in the morning."
"Ok, I'll just wait five minutes."

It's been an adventure. A joyful, crazy, exhausting adventure. With my boy. 

I'm tired. Like, REALLY tired. Like brain broken tired. And I have nothing to say. Which is extremely rare. The father figure got a stay of execution on his car, and apparently it will be running by tomorrow. When the mechanic told me it was a fuel pump issue, I responded "That doesn't sound like 'sell your car and get something that is reliable and is more responsible considering your family size' so yeah you're going to have to keep looking." He looked at me blankly and said "but I told your husband it was the fuel pump." Curses, foiled at every turn.

For your edification I give you How to Fight a Baby. Filmed by a father. But then again the title gave that away. Things that make a mother cringe.

I have a very expensive, very heavy, paper weight sitting in my driveway.

The father figure's car isn't working. Again. With the same problem that we spent a absurd amount of money fixing in the summer. I am not happy. I hate his car, for partially rational reasons. It's a Trans Am that his father gave him, I think with visions of them fixing it up. Instead, we have had others fix it. Repeatedly. If a boat is a hole that you pour money into, then this car is a boat with four tires.

To add insult to injury, the car only holds four people. It's an absurd vehicle for a family of seven to have. I have suggested, often, purchasing a new car. We both agree it should be done, sooner rather than later. Where the minds diverge is what to do for the father figure's transportation. I think he should inherit my van. He thinks he should have a sport car. However, in recent weeks, he's also discovered that sitting at home with more children than can fit in your car isn't very awesome. So, who knows what the future holds.

it ain't like this

So I must go pick him up from work. Sometime tonight. Yes, it is late, but he's paid by the hour and Christmas is coming. As is either an ugly car repair bill or a new car. So work away my good man. And I will continue to hold down the fort here. Which involves being the mother who says "No you can't wash your hands." X-Man is obsessed with washing his hands. Mostly he's obsessed with water. So I am holding out hand washing as a reward for using the potty.

It took two hours for this approach to backfire on me. X-Man decided to announced the existence of a dirty diaper by shoving his hands in it, pulling them out and coming to me saying "Mom. Yucky. Wash." He wins. Again. And I am reduced to publicly admitting that I am being out foxed by a two year old.

still farther ahead than we are

I had a lovely time at my future sister in law's bridal shower. But it made me very tired. Mostly because I am old. But also because it is Sunday. And Sunday is a church day, which means Sunday is a wresting X-Man all morning day.

When at church, I prefer to keep X-Man with me, rather than the father figure, partially because X-Man and I must come to some sort of behavior understanding. One that does not involved head butts.

X-Man was relatively well behaved for me today. He prefers to be with me because I give him significantly more leeway than his father does. This is, in part, because my back is out of whack and wrestling a toddler doesn't make it any better. So I often resort to putting X-Man down. Of course that results in me chasing him, typically in heels, (me, not X-Man) and that's not so awesome for the back either. I kept X-Man in the vestibule, until I discovered that not only could he open the doors into the sanctuary himself, but that running was his default option as he hit that carpet. So we headed outside. It was only 40 degrees, no biggie. This time he took off towards the hall, shrieking "newnuts" all the way. I caught him and explained that doughnuts were only for well behaved children. This merited a head butt, that warranted a stern warning. He settled down, more or less after that.

All things considered, it went fairly well for a day that began with weeping from Mac. He was disgruntled with my clothing choice for him. He said that  his sweater made him look fat. And by fat, he meant his sleeves were a bit longer than his arms. Finding sleeves that fit his arms this morning was a bridge too far, as he was wearing a t-shirt that was two sizes too small. Which made the wearing of the fattening sweater all that more important.

But Mac wasn't finished. As we settled in our pew, before X-Man decided he needed to run free, Mac turned to me and said, in his oh so quiet voice, "Well mom, I just peed a little bit in my underwear so I think you should take me to the bathroom." The people behind us didn't even try to suppress their laughter.

Meanwhile the father figure and I are still locked in a dispute. Listening to the radio yesterday he identified a song as a Beatles song. I argued strenuously that it was most definitely not a Beatles song, although I didn't know what it was. I just new it wasn't Lennon/McCartney. Sure enough, the song turned out be "Band on the Run" which I gleefully pointed out to the father figure was most certainly not the Beatles. He maintained that as it did involve McCartney it was the same thing. I adamantly disagreed. He tried to change the subject, which is a sure indicator that he knows I am right, but he won't actually admit it. I still can't stop laughing at the concept that Wings is the same thing as the Beatles.

Last time I wrote, I was bemoaning my lack of creativity. And very much the not lack of a deadline. So I buckled down at decided that there was nothing that couldn't be created with the help of some sparkly sharpies. So I set to work. Of course, if I'm trying to do anything, all the childrens want to help me. Being foolish, I only bought exactly enough blank wood ornaments required. So I was very nervous when it came to letting Baby attempt some, but she did a lovely job. As did Baba, who offered to take over the cursive writing for Baby. It was good that I let them assist, because sure enough, Cinco discovered that her mother was paying attention to something other than her young offspring. All was not right in the world. So she screamed, I hopped too, and the older girls created. Everything was going well. As I rocked Cinco in a the darkened bedroom, the girls let me know they had finished the project and were heading to bed. We all called it a night. I personally don't agree with Cinco's definition of a night, that is a period of dark in which one eats and plays and pulls the hair of whomever you are closest too. A real night should also involve nose biting. According to Cinco that is.

I overslept the next morning and had to head to the office immediately. The office being the room across from my bedroom. Normally I would start with a cup of coffee before jumping into the work day, but I was running late and had a ton to do and off I went to teach math. I have been working at this job since before Mac was born, so all of my children know the drill. And, from what I can tell, the drill involves getting up earlier than normal, stomping down the stairs immediately, having an emergency that must be brought to my attention immediately, that emergency being "will we have breakfast this morning?" because, you know, I often don't offer breakfast, having another emergency which ought to have been brought to my attention yesterday being "can we eat right now because I'm HUNNNNNGGGRRRRYYY!!!!", followed by being annoyed in my vicinity, getting into several fights with siblings and bellowing, while sitting next to me "MOOOOOM X-Man's POOOOPPPPY AND IT STINKS!!!!! CHANGE IT NOW!!!!!" Did I mention I am on the phone to a student at this time? Explaining the quadratic formula and everything. On a non-phone call day, they sleep attempt to sleep until nine.

 
So there I was, instructing away, attempting to draw a line on a rectangular coordinate system with a mouse, giving all appearances of being drunk a full two hours into the day, when I heard Baby's dramatic gasp followed by "X-MAN!!!! NO!!!! MOOOOOOM!!!"

In my sleepy foolishness, I had gone to bed when Cinco drifted off, hey I had ten minutes before she started partying again. I forgot that my children had been working on a project, which guaranteed that it would be still out, laying on the table. And, by forgoing my morning coffee, I failed to realized the light that I thought was the upcoming day was actually the X-Man freight of destruction.

And that's how I ended up in a coffee shop, ten minutes before the ornament exchange was scheduled to begin frantically throwing together replacement ornaments. No good can come from doing crafts.

I came home to this note written to the tooth fairy by Baby. After I finished cringing over the spelling, I was able to delight in it. Somewhat. Mostly I just despaired at the spelling.

You know the kind of math I like? 3 kids + 1 dentist = 0 cavities. I hung out in the waiting room with X-Man, who was irate that he couldn't tag along with his siblings, and Cinco who was hanging out looking cute. But never fear, I could still hear Mac talking away. I couldn't understand what he was saying, but I could hear him. A lot. On and on and on. Apparently, among other things, he kept telling the dentist she didn't need to see in his mouth because he didn't have cavities. As he announced in the waiting room "See mom, I was telling the truth!"

You know what number I hate? 30. As in 30 Jesse Tree ornaments I committed to making. See, I have noticed that motherhood makes me completely scattered and I have no memory. No memory of the fact that I am completely incompetent when it comes to crafts. Not crafty is putting it mildly. I am where crafts come to die. It's not my fault, it's genetic. My grandmother sewed her hand to whatever it was she was sewing. With her machine. So, I'm not sure how it explains Baby, who not only loves crafts but also as more talent than me to infinity.

It's not that  I can't envision what I want to do. I have an awesome craft imagination. I have no ability to execute my vision. Well, that's not quite right. I do execute it , but the results are never anything close to the gloriousness that I envisioned. And so, when I have to share my creations with others, well......I stall. So with 48 hours until show time, I'm still trying to figure out what exactly it is I'm going for.

Another reason to hate 30. It is the number of burpees I have to do the said number of days. Again, I have to wonder why  I do this to myself.

I have many regrets. One is agreeing to do 30 burpies for 30 days. I've done 20 today and am not really interested in the ten more I am supposed to do today. However, there are a couple of family weddings on the horizon and I would prefer to present of pleasant image of the life awaiting the blushing brides. So toning and poundage loss is required. 

Today's post needs to be short and sweet. I need to clean and paint and do laundry and put kids to bed and and grade papers. And I really do need to blog because that's part of the weight loss contest I committed to. Not that every one has to blog, but this is my "good habit". Because I know ya'll want more and more of my streaming consciousness. 

I jumped the gun on hoping for a breakthrough on the whole potty training front. It seems like this is all I talk about, mostly because it's basically how I spend my day. 

X-Man slept in late today. Which meant I was upstairs cleaning the bathroom when he woke up. It was sweet, I got a big beaming smile, even kisses, and plenty of snuggle time. Of course I had to go ruin it. I know the X-Man, I know how he functions, and I knew he needed to use the bathroom.

So it all unfolded as you might imagine, having read countless accounts of X-Man and the potty. He screamed. I insisted. He tried to hit me. I put his hands in time out. He threw his head back and bellowed. I reminded him of candy. As we waited., I noticed him quieting down. Instead of thrashing, he crumpled, his head in his hands, weeping silently. I noticed as well that his body had failed him. Despite his best efforts, he was peeing in the potty. I began to clap. He cried harder. I reminded him he had candy coming. He wailed. 

I helped him off the potty and watched him toddle to his bedroom. Chin on his chest crying. He climbed up on his bed and laid face down, bare bum up, weeping into his pillow. When I returned with his foiled wrapped chocolate, he was still prostrate with grief. I offered his reward, which broke his focus, but not long. He sat up, took the chocolate, held it in the palm of his hand and began to weep again. As slightly forced sobs shook his shoulders, he took a bite, but then extended his arm to observe his personal 30 pieces of silver. And so the process repeated itself, bite after tiny bite. 

I stayed and observed the entire performance. I still don't quite know the message of this performance art. Was it to show me how cruel the whole process is? So horrific chocolate barely covers the pain? Was he distraught that his bladder did not have the patience he demanded? Is he just Italian? I don't know. But in over a decade of parenting, this was a show I hadn't seen before.  

I got a new phone on Friday. That was an experience. I went in, knew exactly what I wanted and got it. Only I had to hand over my old phone. Which, although it meant I lost random text messages from soccer parents whose numbers I never bothered to log, was ok by me. IF, and it was most certainly a big IF, they made sure to transfer all my pictures. See, last time they tried and didn't. Among many mess ups during that trip. They somehow managed to give the father figure's phone number to me and vice verse. As I was explaining my reservations the manager asked "Did you go to the store off of Cheklov?" Why yes I did. You know it would be nice if companies would hang signs outside their stores saying something along the lines of "This is where we send our incompetent employees" in the interests of full disclosure.

X-Man was over the entire process before it even began. Which was good. The tech guy said the longest part of the process would be transferring the pictures over. He asked how many I thought I had, probably a couple hundred? I simply said "I have a lot of pictures. And those are the only pictures of my newborn youngest daughter since the father figure lost his phone. So, yeah." The whole thing took two hours. Apparently, it takes a long time to transfer over 1300 pictures.

I wish I could have taken a page from X-Man. He was awake when we got out of the car, awake when we got to the store, yelled at me to turn his stroller around and then........I've never seen a child sleep the way X-Man does. He sleeps as if it was a full contact sport. Which is typically is for anyone near him He sweats like he's running a marathon, breathes like he's dying (which means back to the ENT doctor for us) and is quite dead to the world. I can't count how often I've transferred him to the basket of a shopping cart, pushed him through the parking lot, throughout the store and back out across the parking lot as he snores away. His snoring is rather incredible too. While it makes for easy shopping for me, except for requiring Baba to push a second cart because nothing fits in Sleeping Beauty's carriage, there's usually drama when it's time to load up the car. X-Man gets very frustrated because I have yet been able to transfer him BACK to his car seat asleep. So he groggily realizes he's in a parking lot but mom's putting him back in the car. No we need to go in the store! Mom you forgot to go shopping! Here I will yell very loudly to jar you back to reality!

X-Man's ability to pass out as soon as he sets his mind to it impressed the manager. X-Man had been loudly campaigning to be allowed to play with a sample phone. And then suddenly silence. I half assumed that he had gotten himself out of the stroller and snuck off. But no. The phone guy suddenly announced, "Oh that's awesome, I'm going to have to get a picture." Suddenly Mac alerted and went into older brother mode "Are you taking a picture of my brother? Is that your phone? Is that my mom's phone? Why are you taking a picture of my brother?" Satisfied when he learned that it was mommy's new phone being used, he drove right  back into Angry Birds.

As a result, our two hour foray into the phone store wasn't a complete disaster. The older  kids played games on the phones, X-Man slept and Cinco did Cincoy things.....like smile and smile and smile some more.

As we are approaching the end of the year and Christmas is fast approaching, it was time to arrange Christmas cards. A portrait studio was having a decent sale, so, actually being rather on top of things, I went ahead and made an appointment. I even bought X-Man a shirt and Gestated Cinco a sweater in the grey and blue color combo I was working with.

The clothing was where my control began and where it ended.

I scheduled the appointment late in the day to accommodate futsal schedules. It also ensured that X-Man got a nap, and therefore, one would hope, be cooperative. We got there just a few minutes late and waited and waited. They were running behind, as per usual. X-Man was getting restless, so we went for a walk and observed the “mis-mas” decorations that were up. X-Man was very impressed. And he was completely uninterested in returning to the photo studio. He expressed his displeasure very vocally.

If X-Man was going to be forced to return to the studio, it would be on his terms. His terms included hanging out in the photography room itself, never mind that others were using it. Again, he was very vocal in his displeasure. And physical. The concept of restraining him was degrading. At least in his own mind.

And so it was under these circumstances that the Christmas photo session began. X-Man was annoyed at life. Cinco was only interested in eating my chin and not having her nose wiped and Baby was crying. See, I made her button up her sweater, so that she was wearing it the way it was intended to be worn. Quite cruel and unreasonable on my part. I know. Just ask X-Man, I was being cruel all over the place.

In my focus on keeping X-Man corralled, and in a passable mood, I forgot to instruct Mac on how to behave. Mac is a good kid who wants me to tell him he did a good job. I’ve learned that if I clearly spell out my expectations for him, he will almost always measure up. He knows what I mean when I tell him “Don’t be silly.” But I didn’t remember to say that.

So there we were, in front of the camera, Cinco focused on chewing on my necklace, X-Man harrumphing, Baby pouting and Mac gleefully repeating “stinky socks!” back to the photographer. As X-Man stopped arching backward, the tone of Mac’s voice registered with me. “Don’t be silly Mac.” The photographer smiled and said “well, it might be a little late for that.” At that, X-Man decided he was completely done with the process and began to bellow so that there was no misunderstanding.

I mentioned that I wanted to individual shots of Gestated Cinco, so that she didn’t end up with a complex when she discovered that there were plenty of pictures of her siblings and none of her. For some reason, maybe because she had never seen a family of this size or contemplated life with a fifth child, the photographer completely lost it, not unlike X-Man, although she was laughing not crying. “You’re a riot.” I guess she’d been listening to my muttering the whole time.

So I left with some nice pictures of Gestating Cinco, could not find a picture of Mac where he didn’t look high and X-Man, well it’s X-Man. An appropriate glimpse into 2013.

Dare I hope, we've turned a corner? It occurred to X-Man yesterday that using the potty and getting candy is a much more pleasant experience than attacking his mother. Took long enough, but, maybe just maybe. Of course, he has put it together that the more often he uses that potty the more candy he gets. So, I've had to take him numerous times so far this morning. But I'm not complaining.

At some point in this circus, the father figure should actually learn to quit underestimating his children. Cinco keeps threatening to crawl, she likes to hang out on her hands and knees and then sort of jump forward. This process takes too much time, so she still ends up army crawling if she's really committed. And she's always really committed. As a result, she's all over the place. And has discovered the stairs. The father figure saw this and commented "She'll be climbing those soon." I responded "I think now is about the time." "Oh no, she can't even stand on her own." And with that Cinco pulled herself upright and the foot of the stairs.

It took her at least five minutes before she figured how to lift her little leg up onto the stair. Then she was stuck. She gave it her best efforts and managed to get her whole body up there, with the exception of her little leg which she was balancing. She couldn't bring herself to lift that last leg. But that won't last long.

Of course I have boys and therefore they are physically incapable of staying out of the drywall dust. I asked the drywaller guy to leave the paper on the floor for protection as I painted. Should of thought it through. X-Man was actually making dust angels. His hair is so thick, he seriously resembles Pig Pen. Clouds everywhere. Fortunately the paper is loud, when small feet hit it. Which means I need to go chase someone down right now. Maybe distract him with the potty.

Have I mentioned that we all have colds and X-Man finds tissues a personal form of torture. I'm waiting for CPS to arrive, called by well intentioned neighbors. I plan asking them to wipe his nose, while keeping him out of the construction zone. And then resting my case. And yes, the white powder hand prints all over me are really and truly dry wall compound.

I was motivated to begin this blog partly based upon reaction to my facebook status updates. They mostly involved Mac's antics as a toddler and people were highly amused by them. At least someone was laughing.

So, I started a blog. And I kept my facebook account, although I admit that I don't update my status quite as often. In fact, I often hold things back for this blog. But, there's enough there that a "bot" was able to create a mash up of various statuses of mine. Everyone was doing it, best reason ever, so I decided to let it access my old posting and see what it came up with. For kicks.

This is what it produced.

"I am not allowed to volunteer too. Sticking with the team called The floor did not need to liberate and not allowed to volunteer too. Sticking with my math book. Baby's response just love karma." 

Yep. Somehow my sister ended up with "Go Irish Beat USC" and I ended up the with that. I guess I post drunk on facebook way more often than I thought. But it does help clarify at least why my children seem to ignore me so much. They can't figure out what the heck I'm talking about. I know see what they typically look at me as if I had three heads. And not one of them attractive.

Apparently I stick with teams and math book. And I have issues with volunteering. I also recognize why I have over 20,000 page views on this blog. They're not coming to laugh WITH me.

Also, X-Man just ran up to me and gave me a hug and a kiss. Which means he peed somewhere that is not a potty.

One day X-Man will be potty trained. I just hope I'm alive to see it. I'll be able to brag to all my friends on bingo at the senior center. Until, I'll continue to live at the mercy of his whims, which seem to be tied to the most inconvenient moments possible. Today I was expect the dude to come and finish the job. He arrived and sat in the driveway, as per usual, finishing his morning cigarette. About that time I heard, "MOOOOOM! X-Man's POOOOOPY!" "Yeah and it stinks too!" Well happy Monday to me. The moment I unleashed X-Man's weapon of mass digestion, the door bell rang. Of course it did. Now, I could have run downstairs to open the door. But I know how that would have ended. Lots and lots of Clorox all over the bedroom. So, I dispatched Mac to tell Baba to please let the drywaller in.


I came downstairs to see Mac at the front window enunciating very loudly "I. DON'T. KNOW. YOU. I. CAN'T. OPEN. THE. DOOR." and Baba calmly unloading the dishwasher. The drywaller guy actually shook Mac's hand, once admittance was granted, and told him "good job." I was still trying to figure out how the whole "go downstairs and tell Baba to let the gentleman I am expecting in" translated to "yell out the window." Oh well.


Painting. It ain't like the movies. It's not fun, you don't look cute in overalls, there's no cute boy to playfully paint the tip of your nose. There are toddlers to help though. All sorts of help. And the father figure was bound and determined not to help. Overtime my gluteus maximus. He could smell the paint a mile away and kept his distance.

Time the nap, it's a tricky game. I knew I needed to go and get paint and supplies for my newly finished walls. However, I knew that I wanted to paint during nap time. I also knew that I wanted to get some work done on school and I wanted to spare myself some hassle. I could leave with breakfast dishes still on the table and the kids would start asking for lunch immediately. Plus, the sheet rock guy was still there. I could leave after he left, but Cinco was sleeping, fitfully, with a stuffy nose, so that sleeping baby was going to lie. I was hoping to time things right, just after lunch, and get back in time for naps. But never underestimate X-Man's ability to sleep wherever. And his determination to continue sleeping into the store. I have lost count of the number of times I've had to transfer his totally limp body into a shopping cart basket and watch him sprawl out and make himself at home.

So this meant no painting during nap time. But it did not mean no painting. I'm dying to finish off the house so I tackled the job. I only had to chase X-Man out a couple of times. He only stuck his hands in the paint once. His siblings sat slack jawed being entertained by minions, so successfully that they didn't notice that the ONE thing they were supposed to do, keep X-Man out of my way was not happening.

All in all, it was one of my more successful painting experiences. Never one to do a thing half way, I tend to paint when nesting. For the record, there is no nesting involved this time around. And I tend to paint during nap time. Back in the peaceful days of Baba and Baby and gestating Mac, I was painting my bedroom a bright cheery yellow. My bedroom was large and it was a multiple day project. The entry way to the master bedroom was next to the girls' bedroom door. Behind which, Baby was allegedly napping.

The phone rang, distracting me and causing me to leave the room. I left mid project, obviously, and was gone less than two minutes. Ya'll know how this is going. Sure enough, I returned to find an entire gallon of yellow paint, suddenly not so cheery, spilled on the beige carpet. And, to add insult to injury, a trail of little yellow footprints led out of my room, into the hall, which too had beige carpet, and into Baby's room. They stopped right at her bed and there was a little bundle under all of the blanket, desperately trying to sleep.  In case you were wondering, her bedroom carpet was beige too. But fortunately she had pulled all the books off her bookshelf, so several of them were covered in yellow as well. But not her carpet.

I was not amused and spent the rest of my afternoon, and extended nap time or sheltering in place as it were, scrubbing yellow paint out of the carpet. I managed to convince the father figure to not pour turpentine all over the carpet and all in all it was a very successful salvage operation. For some reason, I found the little yellow feet not sentimental at all. Unlike the little blue hand print that Baba left on her bedroom door, back when I was nesting with Baby. Probably because it was just one. Or I was still in the phase where everything a child of mine did was super adorable. Yeah, not there anymore.