Outbreak

After ignoring it as long as I could, I go into the kitchen to see what the clinking and giggling is about.  There I find Finn and Lola, the expected mess, and a glass of goo.

Olive oil, vinegar, rosemary, dish soap, black pepper corns, one piece of dog food, old coffee grounds and some pink shiny sprinkles.  This, they tell me is a potion.  THE potion.  If you drink it, at all, don't even taste a tiny bit, you WILL become a zombie. For Real.  Their faces are bursting with pride in their scientific discovery.

Alright, I'll bite.  I'm not going to get into the same old tired "it's past your bedtime, you know you aren't allowed to waste all these things, look at this mess, etc etc"

"Griffin," I say, "You invented a potion to turn people into zombies, now what are you going to do with it?"

blank stare.

"There's a glass of zombie-making juice sitting on our kitchen counter, if you dump it down the drain, it will go into the drinking water for our whole town!  If you leave it here someone's bound to drink it." (the chunks of rehydrated dogfood look oh-so appetizing)

"Ahhhh, ummmm, well...can you make a sign that says do not touch seriously!!!"

"Yes I can, then I'll put it in an epmty coke can and stick it in the back of the fridge, how's that sound?"

"Great, thanks"

So, after they got in bed, I ended up forgetting to make that sign.  I did dump it down the drain, only half of it though.  I left Pete a message to make sure he makes a suitable entrance when he comes home from work.  He'd be starting to feel the effects of this potion about now I figure.

You have to approach kids on their own level. 

That Awkward Moment When...

That awkward moment when you're at the store with your kids and you realize, they are FILTHY!

So you pull them aside, behind a clothing rack and say, "listen, call me Aunt Lindsay."

Middle Child Syndrome?

Grace's brilliance, Finn's deviousness and Tallulah's helplessness may have been taking all of Pete's and my focus for the past couple months.  It seems poor Lola is threatening to fall through the cracks.  Grace was just naturally smart and so I tried not to expect too much from Finn.  Finn ended up being pretty bright on his own, so again I tried not to expect too much from Lola.  But then I think when she was old enough for preschool we were already worrying about the new baby on her way, plus the older two do take so much energy from me.

Lola came in the other day, crying cause she'd fallen off her scooter.  "I hurt my leg elbow!", she wailed.  "Look, it's bleeding!!"  She collapsed on the floor. 
"Honey, you mean your knee.", I tell her, while looking in vain for bandaids.  "Huh?", she replies, as though she learned to speak from a Japanimation voice over actor.  She sits with legs crossed on the living room carpet,  contemplating the joint in question.  I find a bandaid and join her on the floor.  "Be careful! my leg-knee hurts!!"  "It's just called a knee honey."  I notice she is wearing her sister's motorcycle boots and a white slip.  No actual dress.  I distinctly remember telling her to get dressed before she went outside, I know she wasn't wearing this earlier. 

Not only is my little daughter dressed like Courtney Love but she falls outside and screams, so any neighbor who didn't notice the outfit can get a chance,  and also get to hear her complain about her leg elbow.  Shame is a very powerful parenting tool, we all know this.  Wounds treated and appropriate 4 yr old clothing applied and she's outside playing good as new.

Later that day, I approach Lola to begin selling the idea of preschool.  "I don't need to go to school mama, I know my numbers"
She lists them for me.  "ello, o,"
"Those are letters, and it's just plain 'elle'"
"o with a line at the end of it"
"That's actually a lowercase a, and it's a letter"
"Umm.  s with a line through it!", she is triumphant, as though this was her ace in the hole.
"That's a symbol, oh for the love of... it's worse than I thought"

Looks like I'm going to spend the rest of the summer helping Lola cram so she's up to preschool speed.  Luckily we have a year to get her up to kindergarten level.  And she seems pretty eager to learn.  Maybe she will end up being as bright as  G1 and G2.  And if not, she's got the whole cute blonde thing to fall back on...

Thanks for giving us life, now pardon us as we break all your stuff.

So, after much prodding, I've decided to join the world of mom's who blog about their children. 
For anyone who doesn't know me, I am a sometime mom.

Sometimes i'm at work, thinking I should be home playing with my children.
Sometimes I'm at home playing with my kids thinking I should be at work.
Sometimes I look around defeated, wishing someone would clean my house.
Sometimes I spend hours sitting on the couch, screaming obscenities  at anyone who tries to make eye contact with me.


Mostly, I'm trying very hard to keep track of at least 3 conversations, grab the markers out of one kids hand, grab the hedge clippers out of another child's hand, scrub the nail polish off the wall and clean up the baby puke off my shoes while throwing away the empty mascara which has become just another medium in my graffiti loving children's hands. (I never even got a chance to wear it goddammit!)

All the while skimming over headlines on CNN.com and listening to Hot Topics on The View so I can try my hardest to seem like I have any idea what is going on in the world outside my front door.  (Is it an election year?)


I mean, I know what is going on outside my door.  The dog caught a baby rabbit, the kids tried to save it, it died anyway, they decided to bury it, they broke into the shed to find the shovel, one kid took the shovel and upon realizing how hard it is to dig a deep hole instead decided just to turn over as much healthy grass as possible,  someone pulled out some paint cans and opened them, dumped them all over the patio and painted a chicken green.  Said child then tracked paint into my kitchen while telling me that they'd figured out the most brilliant and scientific way to make green eggs to eat with ham.


Mother of God!!!, I shout from the couch.  That won't make her lay green eggs,  and we are vegetarians, we don't eat ham.  Not even on Christmas.