Warning: When one of your kids becomes a smart aleck, the other is sure to follow.

Me as Dr. D

You know I thought since Wesley has slipped effortlessly into the role of Agent P to my Dr. Doofenshmirtz, I'd be spared with my other child, Regan.

Regan as Agent P

Oh but God has a warped sense of humor or the very least, has it in for me.

Walking into my bedroom last night, the strobe night light from Regan's room illuminated the floor for a second.  I screamed like a Dracula victim when I spied a snake resting near my bed.  After I pelted the reptile with shoes, I peeled myself off the closet door when the snake failed to move.  I discovered Regan planted her plastic but live looking snake.

The next episode was getting into the shower only to find Regan had coated the shower floor with conditioner.  Apparently she was practicing for the rubber dinosaur Olympic ski run and I should have been more careful (her words and Dave's unspoken thoughts) I don't know how I will explain the large bruise on my ankle or my posterior.  However, I am open to suggestions.

The final straw was flopping on the bed and onto a miniature car show featuring Hot Wheels cars in various states of condition from the wheel-less to the new car that was purchased this past weekend.  I am also open to suggestions for a good chiropractor.

I am now trying to invent a Turning a Deliquent into a Nice Child-inator.

Warning: Don't play hide and seek in a funeral home.

Yes, this seems to be a no brainer.  I won't go into details but suffice to say, Wesley will not be hiding under any furniture in a darkened room in a funeral home in the near future or distant future for that matter. 

PS He is fine and actually did not see anything except my angry face.

Warning: You should not argue with your parents during a bleeping tornado warning.

This past Friday around 2:00 a.m. I woke up to a huge thunderclap followed immediately by a flash of lightning.  Usually I sleep like a baby during thunderstorms so it was very unusual for me to be roused out of la-la land.

Then the phone rings.  It's Dave's friend who tells that Channel 2 news is broadcasting that a tornado is cutting a swath of destruction down toward our house.  Regan is already awake holding a passel of stuffed animals.  Dave runs to get Wesley out of bed.  It is important to note that Wesley sleeps on an elevated bed with a complete desk underneath.  The following is the of gist of the conversation:

Dave:  Wes, get up.  We're going to the basement.
Wes:  Leave me alone.  I'm sleepy. 
Dave (a bit more impatiently): There's a bleeping tornado coming our way.
Wes (who is a bit more awake):  Really? Where?  (At this point, Wesley hangs down from the bed and presses his face against his window)
Dave (who by now is nearing anger implosion):  Get your bleeping bleep out of bed now. 

Dave pulled him out and threw him down the stairs with me.  Regan is crying and not because of the impending tornado but the fact her stuffed animal collection is uncovered.  Wesley is grunting in anger and plops down across the basement near the only window.  He promptly tries to fall back asleep as I pull his skinny bleeping bleep off the window seat and to the secure part of the basement. 

While I'm throwing pillows over the top of Wesley, he grumbles that it isn't fair he can't sleep because of this and he wants to complain to someone (me).  I am tempted for a moment to pile more pillows on top of him but I abandon this to catch Regan as she makes a break for the stairs for her stuffed animals. 

In the meantime, Zack moseys into the room and plops down on my pillow, yawns and falls asleep.

Dave, the luckiest bleeping guy, is still upstairs listening to the weather.  Why does he get to face the tornado and I have to deal with the kids?  This is so not fair.

Three minutes later and no tornado, the all clear is sounded and Regan runs upstairs.  Wesley throws off his pillows, moaning about how I ruined his life by throwing pillows on him for no reason.

I envy Dorothy.  I would have liked to visit Oz.

February 27 of the Lenten Nice Or Suffer Eternal Damnation Quest

1.  Regan gave me my purse before I left for school.  Minus my wallet and new phone.  I also managed to leave my lunch and water bottle.  Fortunately, I tore up the car and found $2.00 in nickels and pennies to buy a burnt corn dog and cold fries. 

2.  One darling child was throwing a temper tantrum.  She threw down her glue which splattered all over my shoes and part of my hair.  She boarded the bus home safely while I constantly repeated the Hail Mary in Latin.  To be honest, it wasn't the prayer so much but the Latin.  It sounded like I was chanting a curse.  Other than the bus monitor lady clutching her heart, everyone was fine.

3.  I went the speed limit home.  I know that is not a "nice thing" but I'm flat out of opportunities.

Warning: Eternal Damnation is bad.

It's tough.  Tougher than having a c-section 11 years ago.  Giving up my Diet Dr. Pepper and sweet tea for forty days is excruciating but there was another task I gave myself.  I know we are not supposed to whine about our Lenten obligations but hey, I'm not perfect so here goes.

I also took on the impossible task of being nice and not losing my temper.  Yes, you read that right--I vowed to be nice at least three times a day for forty days.  If you have read any past entries, you will come to the conclusion that I'm just plain mean.  I try at times to be nice but my meanness overwhelms any and all desire to be nice.  Here goes my Lenten Nice Or Suffer Eternal Damnation Quest.

February 22:  Ash Wednesday was pretty easy.
1.   I managed to down my fish sandwich without doing my fake gagging.  Plain water followed as well as two Tylenol for the impending caffeine withdrawal headache.  I think I fooled everyone in thinking that I'm okay with dry fish and stale bread.
2.  I allowed someone to pull out in front of me without screaming obscenities.  Letting a jerk in a Range Rover steal my parking spot at Kroger was number 2 nice thing. 
3.  When Wesley stepped on my toe while he portrayed Darth Vader in his one act play was number 3 nice thing.

February 23: 
1.  The cat is still alive despite cleaning herself in the middle of the driveway while I was trying to back up. 
2.  When a student at school upended my water on purpose, I calmly cleaned it up. 
3.  The mail carrier dropped off a package and Zack hit me in the head with his tail, I didn't complain.

February 24: 
1.  Friday means no meat. I started eating a watery tomato soup when a child threw his half chewed cracker into the soup. 
2.  Then the little @$#% child ate my banana. 
3.  A nervy squirrel was using top of V-ger as his personal Johnnie on the Spot when I left school.  I held on tightly to purse to preclude any throwing.

February 25:
1.  I dropped spaghetti sauce down my pants which stained my underwear a disgusting orange but I refrained from swearing at myself. 
2.  The T-Mobile guy did not activate my new phone properly which precipitated a visit back to the store.  I even choked out a "It's okay" when the guy told me it would be 15 minutes to access the computer. 
3.  An evil senior citizen shot the finger at me for waiting for her to back out of her parking spot.

February 26
1.  The clerk at Walmart remained unharmed despite the fact he overcharged 2x.  Each time I told Jimmy the clerk that the shoes I was buying for Regan were markdown, he charged me full price and the markdown price.
2.  Zack turned his nose up at my Mexican Chicken casserole when a glob of it fell on the floor.  Come on, Zack, that's one of the reasons we have you.  You are the food vacuum.
3.  Wesley activated my voice command on the new cell phone to accept only his voice.  He also remains unharmed but that could change if he fails to deactivate his voice from my phone.

Can't wait to find out what tomorrow holds for me.  Stay tuned!

Warning: Cologne is an effective deterent in the timeless war between Mother and Son.

Round 5:  The Cologne Offensive

"I don't want to go.  You make me go and it's not fair." My underage combatant (Wesley) complained.

I was still tasting Elmer's Gluestick Clear Coat on my lips from our confrontation earlier this week.  I was again rushing to get dressed to take Regan to her karate class when I felt Wesley enter the room.

In an amazingly quick move that surprised even me, I grabbed the closest potential weapon--a bottle of Ralph Lauren Romance and whipped around (and without falling also--yea me).  I spritzed at Wesley, covering him in an aromatic mist of designer cologne.  As expected, he backed up like he was a lion and I had just hit him with a whip.

"Back, Sheba. Back."  I waved the bottle menacingly toward Wesley who retreated faster than a politician at a news conference.

Wesley ran to his room and slammed the door.  Not to be deterred, I covered his door and surrounding carpet with Ralph.  Ralph Lauren was my holy water and Wesley was not getting away.  I wasn't thinking of Wesley's eventual revenge or future emotional trauma. 

Yes, I know what everyone who reads this thinking--I am a horrible mother.  Be comforted by the thought that I no longer have any cologne and have resorted to using Febreeze Fabric Softener in Lilac as my signature scent.

Warning: If your child wants to help you after a huge fight, don't trust him.

Wesley Wars:  Episode Four

Still smarting from this summer's lawn mower strike, the forced decommissioning of his slingshot (aka my bra) and the Hello Kitty Sock wearing incident, the battle continues.

A few highlights of the past few weeks:

Wesley: You are here to ruin my life.
Me:  I'm glad I met my goal.

Wesley:  You are the meanest person in the whole world.
Me:  Thanks.  I've worked hard to become so.

Me:  Feed the dog please.  It's your turn.
Wesley:  You had me so I would have to work ALL the time.
Me:  Well, I need a refund because you, uh, don't work all the time.

Wesley:  You feed me this junk [meatloaf and mashed potatoes] and it's icky.
Me: Choice B is fried liver and onions.

Wesley:  Why can't I stay over at Logan's [his best buddy] all the time?
Me:  Because the police told me I couldn't lose you anymore.

Wesley: You can't force me to go to school.
Me: Well, yes. Yes I can.

This last loving interaction was this week as we frantically was getting ready for school.  Dave was out of town so I made breakfast (which according to Wesley, all the food was again, junk--come up with new adjectives, Boy).  Wesley brought my purse to me and handed me my chapstick.  I throw it on and tell him too look for my eyeliner as I was trying to put on my watch.  He digs around and hands it to me. 

As I start the first swipe, I realize my vengeful son handed me a black permanent Sharpie.  Apparently I looked angry in clownish, one black eye sort of way because he dropped the purse and ran.  I tried to yell at him only to find that the little @$# % head had handed me a glue stick instead of chapstick and my lips were sticking together. 

Okay so Round Four goes to the Ten Year Old Hooligan.