The average week sees me buying about thirty dollars worth of produce. My kids love fruit and are pretty open minded about vegetables, so I don't sweat the bill. And no, gardening is not in my future.

Occasionally, I get swept up in the moment and attempt to be a homemaker. I retrieved my beautiful cobalt blue bowl, a wedding gift--the last of of the set, darn children. I filled it with an assortment of bright green apples, oranges and bananas. It looked beautiful. I happily set it on the table, understanding that it would be raided by the children, most certainly, as it was so appealing. Shortly before lunch today, I discovered my lovely bowl, still on the table, but now each apple had a large X-Man sized bit out of it.

Not to be outdone, Cinco discovered that if she climbs two shelves in the pantry, she can get into the granola bars. She then sits in the pantry and gnaws the middle of the bar, until she has eaten through the wrapper and is free to nibble the bar. This actually works well, not choking-wise, as she has to gnaw the bar and can't get too large a bite. However, she's only able to consume a little bit before she must move on to a new package. I have three barely eaten granola bars now sitting on the counter. I'm thinking about taking them and the apples and making some sort of pathetic apple crisp or something.

Yesterday morning, for reasons only known to himself, Mac opened the bathroom door, locked it and then shut it. With no one in the bathroom. X-Man was the most put out by this as it interfered with his nap time stalling techniques of using the bathroom repeatedly. Also, Mac did this before anyone had brushed their teeth that morning. It was awesome. The father figure struggled to manipulate the wire hanger to open it. Oh sure, the exact same door knob downstairs popped open no problem, mostly likely due to the fact that the door wasn't shut. But practice as he did, the father figure had great difficulties unlocking the door. But triumph he did.

So as I was writing last night, Mac came down very somber. He looked at me briefly before dropping his head. He mumbled "The bathroom door is locked again." I spun around in my chair "ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!!!!" He looked up, lip quivering and whispered "You totally fell for it."

I told the father figure I was amused by how well he pulled off his joke. His ability to not laugh was impressive. And yet I had the slight twinge that this ability might serve him too well and be the bane of my existence come the teenage years. It could get interesting.

Someone gave X-Man a squirt gun. In the car! I am perplexed as to how anyone could ever think this was a good idea. Not that a good idea has ever been a requirement for any of my kids’ shenanigans. And so, heading home, I was hit by a spray of water. While attempting to merge onto the freeway. It was not conducive to safe driving. So X-Man shot me. I yelled at X-Man. X-Man turned the gun onto a sleeping Cinco. I yelled at X-Man again. His five point harness did not allow him to turn and shoot his siblings. So he contented himself by shooting the car windows. Until he dropped it. Then he began to wail. So clearly the obvious remedy in Baby’s eyes was to hand him yet another squirt gun.

Why were there squirt guns in my car? Well that’s thanks to my mother. I think she’s out to get me. She cleverly disguised her plan as prizes in Easter baskets for them. It worked. That that does not kill us makes us stronger. I can now drive through a squirt gun attack.

I’m glad that X-Man is enjoying his Easter prizes. He had a rough go of it while at Church for Easter. The service started out with candle light. X-Man wanted a candle. Desperately.  I attempted to help him hold mine. But he was not interested in holding my candle. He was interested in blowing it out. So there I was, holding a symbol of the light of Christ….and my son blew it out. Not content with extinguishing my little light, he demanded access to his Nana’s. His Nana said no. X-Man wailed. He then proceeded to attempt to blow out any and all nearby candles. He was not particularly successful. But most definitely not for lack of trying. There might be some symbolism here that I would rather not think about.

Baby was invited to a birthday party. Randomly she announced that she wanted to give a character doll from the movie Frozen as the gift. Ok. So we went to three stores until we found "Elsa". Apparently that was a minor miracle. But not so minor. We hit a Target, found three of the dolls and grabbed one. I was informed later that this particular doll is a "HOT" item that in sold out everywhere, people track the store delivery schedules and call at opening to see if she's in. This would explain why it took three trips to stores to find any Frozen characters at all. And of course, Baby decided the doll was so pretty, she'd like one for her birthday. I returned to the Target later in the day, still blissfully unaware of the impossibility of my task, to discover that again the shelves were stripped bare. Where there had been three dolls earlier....there were no dolls. This is when I was informed that my rare Elsa sighting might possibly be the only of my life. Of course all the father figure heard was "Baby wants this doll" Which has become for him "I will find this doll." Well....good luck with that.

So, I went on a hunt for a doll that I didn't really realize required a hunt. I brought Baby with me as we hunted for the birthday party gift partly because if we didn't find it, I wanted her to pick some other gift that she wanted to give. Hopefully to avoid to situation with Baba where she was apologizing for a birthday gift because "my mom picked it out."

This meant that the father figure was left alone at home with four children. The father figure who thinks six children is a good idea. He was left, unattended with the fruit of his loins.

Which is why I returned home to discover eighteen raw eggs broken on my hardwood living room floor. Baba and Mac were trying to clean in up. The father figure was MIA and Cinco was wearing raw egg. X-Man was hiding.

Somehow X-Man, with Cinco's assistance, removed the full carton from the fridge Not satisfied with this accomplishment, he brought the full carton to the living room. This would be the same living room that Mac and Baba were sitting watching TV. From the carnage, it was clear that it wasn't just a dropped full of eggs. There were way too many shells spread over way to big a surface area. Cinco was bathed in too much egg yolk. Not to mention, there was very few remnants of eggs in the carton.

What is unclear is what Mac and Baba were actually doing at this time. Also unclear, where the heck the father figure was. I work from home and can be focused on that, too much some might say, but I have yet to lose an entire carton of eggs on my watch.

My displeasure was vocalized loudly and emphatically. The father figure reappeared to attempt to salvage something.What exactly I'm not clear on. Certainly nothing that X-Man had touched. Certainly not my mood. So he found the hiding X-Man and threw him in the bath. And came back out to help clean up. I pointed out that this left X-Man alone in the bathroom. And where X-Man was, Cinco was certain to follow. And indeed she had.

There was X-Man singing happily, undoubtedly about his exploits and accomplishments. Cinco had followed, still deathly afraid of baths, she was uninterested in joining him. She was, however, finding all sorts of things that should join him. Opening several drawers, she threw in a hairspray, toilet paper rolls, toothpaste and tooth brushes. I caught her trying to pull my curling iron out, to toss into the soup she was making. But fortunately the cord, not properly wrapped after the last time Cinco lifted it, was keeping it stuck.

I get gray hairs thinking about the shenanigans comes down the pipe when it comes to those two. Especially considering the father figure is part of my support system. Whoo boy.

The father figure didn’t even bat an eye when I mentioned that the “free” weekend we thought we had…wasn’t. Someone wanted Baby to play in an extra scrimmage…..45 minutes away. Of course, being the insane person I am, well she’s playing. The father figure is learning to roll with it.

It really and truly is my goal to be a good mother.  I had a moment last week where I had to make a choice, do I let go or do I maintain order and discipline? I opted for letting loose for just a moment. I can’t remember how, but suddenly he was trying to blow raspberries on everyone’s bellies. Mine, the one that bore him, nurtured him, well, it too was fair game. As I was trying to clean the kitchen and he was SUPPOSED to be doing math, we had that moment. We made eye contact and I could see that twinkle in his eye, he was considering going in. But he needed to gage how severe my reaction would be. I was there, at that crossing point, do I maintain some sort of dignity and declare mom’s tummy off limits or do I reward the impish nature that decided to push the envelope just that far. Well I wouldn’t be a mediocre mother if I didn’t roll my eyes and say “Well, you’re bringing the consequences upon yourself.” And in he went. He also learned that day that I still could pick him up, hold him by his ankles and do what I thought necessary to his own exposed tummy. In the end, that might have inspired more respect for me.

Later that day, as I was working away in the office, the boy snuck in. He sidled up to me, acted as if he was going to hug me, not at all unusual, and then went in for the kill. I had to give him credit for tactics. The problem was he was so successful he kept trying to repeat it. Only he couldn’t even make it through the door without giggling with glee. Well the first time he made it to the book shelf before busting loose. After that, there were plenty of attempts, but he couldn’t contain himself and his excitement.  And so the day went. Until bedtime. That’s when he upped his attempts, learning that Mom could still stiff arm him. But he breathlessly announced “Now you’re a fun mom!”  

I admit that I was pleased with his reaction. It’s a downside to home schooling; mom tends to be the only disciplinarian around, being both mom and teacher. So as I was wondering if it was a good thing that my son thought I was fun, I was tackled. Baby and X-Man decided that they wanted in on the action. Or maybe they felt bad for their brother, held at an arm’s length by his mother. Baby shrieked “I’ve got her now!” while X-Man sat on me.  And Mac went to town.

The human belly button can contain a surprising amount of spittle.

The uproar eventually caught the attention of the father figure. Cinco and he appeared, observing the chaos before him. Mac had run out of breath, between his uproarious laughter and raspberries, was lying on the floor. X-Man had taken a turn, but wasn’t so successful. He ended up just blowing spit.  The father figure looked unimpressed and slightly perturbed. To which Mac reassured him “Oh don’t worry Daddy, we won’t do this to you….you’re too hairy.”

I guess that’s a good thing for me…..somehow.

I'm going to pretend that the flooring guy didn't tell us it would be mid-October before they can get the floors in. I'm going to forget that the electrician can't figure out what half the switches in the house do. It's not that I don't LOVE plywood covering what should be a window....that's four weeks out as well. What really is eating at me is the fact that the hardwood floors that are in the house already make it very, very easy for Cinco to get everywhere. And at the moment, everywhere in this house is still mostly a death trap. Death traps sing the song of Cinco's people. And don't even ask me how many places and times X-Man has gotten his head stuck today.

Ok, I'm back. Gestated Cinco crawled into a garbage bag and is now lecturing me on the cruelty of taking away the best toy evah!

It was occurring to me as I tried to get Cinco down for a nap--a nap that she most firmly rejected  by the way--how weird my kids are. Some might call it tactile. I call it really, like spine tingling, annoying. This line of thought started as I recalled the events of the previous night's soccer practice. As I was talking with other moms, trying to figure out how I would manage 8am, 8:30 am and 9 am  soccer games, no where near each other of course, I realized that Cinco was yanking on my lower lip while trying to eat my nose. And I was there talking, like this was all normal. Because in my life, it is. I'm assuming that's where the strange looks were focused on. But whoever really knows.

When Baba fell asleep she liked to play with my cuticles. She would trace each finger, over and over again until she fell asleep. Heaven help me if I had a hangnail. She would play with that sucker for what seemed like an eternity. And, rookie that I was, I let her do so. It still causes me to cringe, ten years later. Baby liked to pull my hair. I should have let her continue this instead of letting her focus on her own. She spent four years with large bald spots on her hair where she had twisted it out. Mac liked to play with my neck skin when drifting off. Yes, that's right. My son went for my jugular on a daily basis. X-Man preferred noses. He would hold my nose while napping. I'm sure there's a not so hidden message in that. And then there's Gestated Cinco. She likes my whole face. Any of it. All of it. Preferably my nose, again. Although, unlike her brother, she prefers to slip her delicate little fingers up my nose. While grasping at my eyelashes. What make this all the more impressive, is that she does all this with her eyes closed. So maybe it's not so much weird as it is talented.

X-Man has his head stuck in a stool, again. He's bellowing "Help please." Guess it's time to show him manner pay.

This doesn't have to do with anything. It just makes me happy.