Monkey Poo Flinging Day

Holy freakin’  moly.  It’s a “I need want to pop a Xanax and wash it down with a triple shot of Patron margarita” day.  Ha.  If only.  Right?  If only death wasn’t the result.

What the hell is going on today?  Everyone is driving me insane!  Everyone.  Literally.

The baby won’t stop crying.  She’s sitting in my lap as I’m typing, because if I put her down, the flood gates open.  She’s only happy in my lap.  Other than that, all hell breaks loose.

Boy got off the bus being in a mood.  This has been a great, fun afternoon with him.  Let me tell you what.  He decided in order for his homework to be done, he needed to sharpen his pencil in our automatic pencil sharpener.  So he sticks the pencil in, lets it twirl around and around, and he dances all around the office while this is happening.  Meanwhile, the pencil is not being sharpened, just twirling around and around, and is making that horrific grinding sound.  You know, the one you can just feel down to your bone?  Yeah, that one.  It goes on and on for about ten minutes straight.  I finally decide to walk in there and see what is going on and try to navigate him out of there and back towards his homework.  Only, I get to the office a second too late.  Baby Girl got there first.  And of course, Boy didn’t like that.  He slammed her hand in the office door.  Nice big brother, right?  Just what I was thinking.  So that set off the wailing sirens again.  Fun times, I’ll tell ya!

After I finally get him settled back into his seat and start to work on homework, he then pulls out his portraits from his backpack from their spring pictures they had taken at school and received today to bring home.  Big Girl tries to look at his, and he looses all control.  He looks like a gorilla with big swinging arms trying to collect them all before she can sneak a peek at the face she sees everyday.  Big ol’ Donkey Kong making grunting noises, trying to prevent his sister from seeing a picture of his mug, which turns into another fight.  I   They start batting and swinging a little, hit and miss, pencils in hand.  I may as well just have monkeys running around flinging poo at each other.  I feel like that’s what is happening anyway.  At least I may have a shot at someone listening.  The monkeys may actually listen better to me than my own children.  There’s a pretty good chance of that, actually.

After the homework battle is finally complete, we move on to the battle of the Baby Girl.  She is just walking around and around crying and crying.  Why you ask?  Why am I not holding her?  Comforting her?  Seeing what is wrong?  Oh believe me, I have.  I’ve done it all.  She’s fed.  She’s been changed.  She’s healthy.  She’s not teething.  She’s 110% happy – as long as she’s in my arms.  She is so spoiled rotten.  She will be crying so hard you’d think she needs to go to the emergency room because she looks like she has a broken bone, and then Mommy picks her up, and she’s giggling so hard and she’s so happy!  What an actress she is.  She has such a brilliant personality at a year-and-a-half old already.  I can’t stand the fact that I have to face this for the next sixteen years or so.  I have a feeling she’ll outwit me a time or two.  This one seems pretty good…I may have met my match…

And that, my friends, is quite the scary thought.

Thankfully, I have a great hubby coming to the rescue.  He’s bringing home dinner.  Yep, we’re cheating tonight.  Cheating together!  With food.  He’s bringing home takeout from one of our favorite places to eat.  Good old Glory Days.

Yum. Sauce.

Yep, this happens around here.

Just as I think my life can’t get anymore circus-like. I walk into the kitchen, and find this on my floor:

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And yes, that is what you think it is. Men, you are probably turning your heads sideways and squinting and wondering what in the hell that is. Women, you know. It is a tampon. And don’t freak. It is still sanitary. Unused. Just unwrapped. By my lovely one-and-a-half year old who is a tricky little monster. She is a little magician, daredevil, and monkey all rolled into one. She gets into things (i.e.: tampons!) if you are not watching her EVERY second of EVERY day!) Need a bathroom break? Forget it! Don’t even think about it. Plan it around her nap time.

She doesn’t feel a tremendous amount of pain; or if she does, she doesn’t care about it too much. Let me tell you, she keeps me on my toes!

She’s a climber of the outside of our banister staircase, our couch, the dining room chairs, the ottoman (from which she then jumps onto the couch), the dog, her potty seat, etc. Basically anything low enough for her to climb on top of, and then she either jumps off of, or gets stuck on and then cries until I help get her down.

The best part: everyday is a new adventure! (Gotta look on the bright side, folks!) What the hell am I saying?! Every f’ing thirty seconds is a new escapade with this child. She’s the last kid. My other two never kept me on my toes as much as she does. She is definitely the hardest kid I’ve had to deal with. I’m so glad Hubby got the snip last month. Woo-hoo!

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But how can you resist this face?! I can’t help but to love her and all of her devilish, monstrous, devious, crazy ways. I mean, she is her mother’s child…correct?