With a Shiny Duck

Tonight, during dinner, Hubby and the Fries were discussing heaven.

They were in the kitchen.

I'm in the den, desperately hoping that I can finish what work I need to do so I can take myself and my poor aching head off to bed.

He comes in and relates this story:

Large Fry:  Daddy, do giants live up in the sky?  In a castle?  With a shiny duck?

Hubby [momentarily bewildered]: You mean the golden goose?


Large: Yeah!

Water Wars

This morning, Hubby had a meeting with the local high school principal about the baccalaureate service.  One of three youth pastors in our town, Hubby was volunteered to be the pastor in charge this year, mostly because the other two guys didn't want to.  Or something like that.

That left me in charge of getting Large Fry off to school.  Hubby usually walks her across the street in the mornings, unless he has other obligations (like today) or he's sick.  I get up to help make lunches most mornings, and to stick the diabetic cat, who needs insulin twice a day.  Three days a week, the twins leave with Hubby and he drops them off at preschool before driving the extra 60 seconds over to his office.

Today was his day off (despite the meeting this morning), and he got back just as I was herding Large Fry out the door for the walk to school.  He went in to herd the twins and talk to them about going out for breakfast.

By the time I got back, the cold was seeping into my ankle, which is still sensitive to weather changes (and probably always will be).  I was also pooped, since I'd gone grocery shopping late last night and didn't get home until about 12:30.

Medium Fry wanted a jammie day and didn't want to go out to breakfast (unusual).  Small Fry didn't want to go out to breakfast unless I was going, too.  So Small readily agreed to go when I said I would come, but Medium wasn't quite in the mood for food yet.  Hubby told her to go get dressed anyway.

Medium came back downstairs a few minutes later, complaining about her lack of pants.  I went down to the laundry room and got her a clean pair of jeans from the dryer, and she happily skipped upstairs to put them on.

I plunked the spray water bottle and the detangling spray on the butcher block island.  "Can you take care of hair?" I asked.  I still needed to put my contact lenses in and I was feeling pretty sluggish still.

"Sure," Hubby said.  He picked up the squirt bottle.

And playfully aimed it at Small's head, pulling the trigger.

A fine mist of water hit her in the side of the head, mostly on her hair.

She shrieked.

Hubby squirted Medium, who also squealed.

"You got me wet, Daddy!" Small giggled and skittered away.

"I'm gonna get you again!"  Hubby grinned and aimed.

Squealing, Small and Medium both took off for the den, Hubby chasing them and misting their hair with water.

Thinking this might get out of control fast, I moseyed down the hall after them.  "Don't squirt me!" the Fries chorused, giggling.  Hubby countered with, "Spray, spray, spray!"

Leaning against the doorframe, I said, "Daddy, what's our rule about chasing?"

Hubby stopped in his tracks and looked sheepish.  Oops was all over his face.  "You're right."

I smiled and stepped back, intending to go upstairs and put in my contacts.

"I sorry," Hubby said as he came over to me.  "I thought I was being a good daddy."

"You were, honey," I said, feeling bad that I had stopped the fun.  "You were."

Conjugate "Melt"

Meltdown: n.  When a small child comes completely unhinged because Daddy took her twin with him (but not her) when he went to pick up pizza for dinner.  (Those of the nuclear variety are less powerful.)

Melt: v.  To liquefy, become mooshy.

Hubby & Small (18 months)

Melting: adj. What my heart does when Hubby comes home, and Small Fry grins from where she's leaning against me, and he asks if she needs a hug.  Small's grin becomes huge around the thumb in her mouth, and I gently tickle her side.  "Do you need a hug from him?" I asked.  Small grinned some more.  Hubby feinted coming to give her a hug a couple of times.  "Go get him," I whispered.  And then all three Fries took off after him, chasing him to the kitchen, while Hubby shrieked with glee, "No!  Don't hug me!  Don't hug me!  I don't wanna hug! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

They caught him.

Much giggling ensued.

Much hugging, too.

And much melting of my heart.

Waving the White Flag

I surrender already.

I give up.

You can have my sanity.  I never had much to begin with, so I probably won't miss it much.

They say insanity is hereditary...you get it from your kids.

Apparently, you do not need shared mitochondrial DNA to contract this terrible disease from your children.

Will someone please find me a nice room with a comfy bed and rubber walls painted a nice soothing shade?

And take my hormones with you, while you're at it.  I don't want them anymore.  They are incorrigible and cannot be trusted.

If I had a whole nerve left this morning, I'd be surprised.

I do not have any now.

They've frazzled themselves out of existence.

By the time I got the Fries down to nap, it was very late.  Did they sleep?  Noooo.  I should have tried to nap myself, but I didn't.  I wouldn't have had much success anyway, since Large Fry came downstairs after half an hour and asked to get up.  (Egad, no!)  Medium Fry asked the same question 40 minutes later.  (Again, no.  Seriously, they had all had meltdowns of one kind or another before nap.)  And fifteen minutes after that, I had to herd both twins back to bed.  Medium had gone potty after asking if she could come downstairs, which was fine, but the fact that she clearly had not then gone back to bed like she'd been told and Small Fry was up now too.  Argh!

Ice cream did not improve my disposition.

In the five minutes it took to drive to the church tonight for the youth group's spaghetti dinner fundraiser, I was teetering off the edge again.  Large and Small running happily amok in the parking lot didn't help, especially when neither of them stopped when I shouted at them to cool it.

I was on the verge of tears by the time we got down to the fellowship hall.  Hubby was talking with the college students, and given my text to Jester and my wordless communication that I was about to lose my mind, I should not have been surprised that Mitzy and her roomie came right over, gave me a hug, and took the kids so I could go breathe for a minute.

I didn't breathe; I collapsed in the corner hallway of the children's ministries wing and bawled.  Hubby left the kids with Jester, Mitzy and gang and just let me cry.

Days like this are thankfully rare.

I should have had a second piece of cake.

If I didn't know that the teens and youth group staff were boxing up leftovers to take over to the firefighters at the nearby station, I would have.

I think I shall prescribe a fistful of mini Reese's PB cups.

Parenthood Defined

I ran across this description of parenthood on one of the blogs I frequent, and giggled so much that I could not help but share it with you:

I’ve heard a guy on another comment page (one that was a bit removed from this one) describe parenting like having all of your sanity and emotional well-being located in your…um, “nether regions”… and then walking pantsless through a bad neighborhood carrying a sign that says “Please kick me in the groin.”

"Oh, no! He doesn't look good!"

The blanket crate here in the den has been turned into an operating suite.

The patient is decent-sized white bear (complete with snowflake hat and scarf) that I got for Christmas more than 20 years ago.

Golly, I'm old.

Medium and Large are the surgeons who are fixing my bear up.

Medium: Oh, no!  He doesn't look good!  His foot is bwroken!

Large: We need to fix him.

Medium: He needs skwrews.

Medium jabs him with Hubby's chopsticks, leftover from his lunch, and left behind to be so appropriated.

Medium: His tail has blood!  Oh, no!

Large carefully turns my bear over onto its side with a couple of toy wands.

Medium pretends to skewer his tail with the chopsticks.

Medium: Both his foots awre messed up!  He needs skwrews in both!

More jabbing.  (Poor bear.)

Medium: Dewre!  His tail's all bettewr.

The bear is lifted out of the blanket crate and placed on the floor.  Hushed examination follows.

Large picks up the bear and deposits him back in the blanket crate, and then covers him carefully with a fleece throw blanket.

Large: There you go.  Shhh.  Go to sleep.

Not a Good Sign

I'm freezing.

My right ear aches.

Both ears are happily and rapidly speaking to Snap, Crackle and Pop...in a language only they understand.

Perhaps I should have been the one to see the ENT today instead of Small Fry.

Looks like a trip to the walk-in clinic for me tomorrow.