Thursday, October 20, 2011

Warning: Slingshooting beanie babies does not produce the same result as a Looney Tunes slingshot.

It's fall break and my delinquents are out of school. It's not been too bad except for:

*a disastrous attempt at Rice Krispie treats
*a minor medical emergency involving Zack and aforementioned Rice Krispie treats
*another medical emergency involving Zack and a wasp
*a frantic search looking for Bob the Pterodactyl
*Regan and Wesley pushing each other in Target over a disagreement involving salt and pepper shakers
*a vain attempt to deliberately stain a shirt for a Halloween costume
*another vain attempt to make reindeer antlers out of craft foam
*discovering I have bought 7 bottles of ranch dressing in an overzealous coupon spree
*packing bags for Wesley and Regan's Scout camping trip with Dave. This also led to a yelling and foot stomping fit by Regan when I pulled out four stuffed animals from her bag.

Now, readers, it does seem like a lot for a week. But if you have read my blog, you'll understand (especially Kitten with a Whiplash) this is normal for my little corner of paradise.

The straw that broke the proverbial camel's back--or in my case, Bob the Pterodactyl--was the construction of a slingshot made from one of my bras. If I had known Bob was to be abused this way, I would have never found him hiding in Regan's sock drawer. Regan and Wesley decided to use the bra to propel Bob across the house.

By the time I stopped the revelry, one of the kitchen drawers were upended. Zack was cowering in the basement, frantically trying to chew off the bandage covering the wasp sting. The mantle of the fireplace had been rearranged to become a target. Wesley was spitting out commands like a four-star general to make sure Bob would land on the mantle in one piece. Regan was soothing Cutie Pie (another stuffed animal) because she was next in line to be shot.

"Mean. You're just plain mean." Wesley accused me. "We're not fighting now and we're having fun. Blah, blah, blah." I tuned him out until he said, "You're not the boss of me. And I've got rights." Honestly, that kid is going to be a major crime figure in the near future and so he continues, "Someday, you're gonna miss us fighting with each other." He will not be a psychic for the police force.

I not so quietly remind him that I am indeed the boss of him and if he could name five of the Bill of Rights, I'll let him continue playing. He named two (religious freedom and right to bear arms). He tried to slide in "Freedom to think" but I nixed it.

"Benjamin Franklin Pierce wrote it." My little scholar grunted. Too many MASH reruns.

Turning my attention to the girl, she lets Cutie Pie loose on the slingshot down the stairs. The poor dog (Zack) never stood a chance as Cutie Pie assaulted him in mid-bandage chew.I disassemble the sling shot and put it back into my drawer as Wesley puts on a pair of socks.

"I'm going outside," he announces with anger. I almost tell him that he put on Regan's Hello Kitty socks but remind myself that I love my children. I love like my children. I like tolerate my children.

Please remind me to look into military academies for Wesley and convents for Regan.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Warning: Pizza is the second leading cause of near automobile accidents.

Cats are the first. But I digress. Dave is called away out of town and it falls to me to feed the kids (BONUS Warning: If you feed kids, they will never go away). Feeling lazy and not at all like June Cleaver, I call in an order to the local pizza parlor. I am in way disparging June. It had been a long day and I was tired. We get a large, gooey cheese pizza and an order of garlic knots. Garlic knots are these magical wonderful bits of homemade bread drenched in garlic and butter. They are my weakness and I would do just about anything to eat them.
We're pulling into the driveway when Wesley lets loose a high pitched scream that I swear, could break wine glasses. Apparently, Regan breathed on him and he was infected with Regan Cooties. According to Wesley, this is a terminal disease and it required immediate action. Not medical attention but retribution. He grabs Bob, Regan's stuffed pterodactyl, and throws it at my head. Regan begins to karate kick her brother who is continuing throwing her stuffed animals into the front seat. Instead of stopping the car and calmly talk to my kids, I grab Bob who has fallen down my shirt--the pervert and toss it back to Regan. Then in a horrifying minute, the garlic knots begin to slide out of the box. I made a split second decision to save the garlic knots and let the kids fend for themselves. After all, we have health insurance in case of serious injury and we have met our deductible for the year. Then BAM!!!. The passenger side mirror hits the side of the garage. I stop instantly. By the time I threw the car in park, both kids have mysteriously disappeared into the house. The damage is minimal. The mirror is fine as well as the garage. The only remnant was Bob the Pterodactyl who was an innocent pawn in the fight. So the lesson, readers, is not that inattention while driving is bad (it is) or that Regan needs to cull her stuffed animal posse (she does) or that Wesley overreacts (he does). No, the lesson of the day is garlic knots are worth any price to a hungry mother.