A typical conversation

Me: What do you want for dinner tonight?
Dylan: Chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese.
Me: What about for the grownups who don't want to eat that stuff?
Dylan: Well, you can eat something else. Like salad. I like salad now. With nothing on it. But not tomatoes.
Me: You don't like tomatoes?
Dylan: Not until I am six. When I am six, Liz will be seven.
Me: Yep. In fact, Liz will be seven in exactly one month.
Dylan: You mean, tomorrow?
Me: No, one MONTH.
Dylan: I don't understand.
Me: Ok, you know how when you wake up and go to school and come home and go to sleep, that is one day?
Dylan: Yeaaaah.
Me: And seven days in a row is a week: Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday, that's a week, right?
Dylan: Yes.
Me: And then four weeks in a row, like on the calendar, that's a month.
Dylan: (Silently thinking) Frankenstein is dead.
Me: Yes Dylan, Frankenstein is dead.

Tales from the Playland...and other tales...

Dylan tried to have lunch with the kids at Elizabeth's school yesterday but they were having bean burritos and he almost had an aneurysm instead.
None of my kids are very keen on the Mexican food, least of all burritos. They can tolerate tortillas and might munch on a quesadilla, but they shun tacos, enchiladas and salsa. They don't even like my special secret recipe guacamole which I make fresh from scratch. They're strange.

After his rather unflattering display of temper, I thought it was best if Dylan left the classroom. So we went to McDonalds for lunch. Burritos are gross, but fried up nuggets of chicken are delicious.
Of course, we went to the McDonalds that has a Playland. And of course there were little jerkoff kids playing there with their jerkoff moms doing their very best to NOT supervise them at all.

McDonalds is promoting the new Madagascar movie right now, and you get a plastic animal toy with your Happy Meal. Dylan got a funny penguin. These jerkoff kids each got the zebra.
As Dylan went to join them in playing the bad kids were taking turns throwing their toys up the slide of the Playland. I cautioned Dylan that if he were to even CONSIDER throwing his toy, I'd take it away from him and we've leave McDonalds immediately.
He never even dared to dream of throwing that toy. These other kids though...

Every five minutes or so one of the jerkoff moms would snap to reality and realize that she had just been listening to five minutes of her jerkoff kid hucking a plastic toy up a plastic slide. Quite loud.

"Do not throw that toy!" the mom would yell...then go back to her very interesting conversation...which was actually not that interesting at all. Yes, I eavesdropped. Ben is not a great lunch companion. Not much to say that one.

Anyway. The kids would stop throwing the toys for about 2 seconds, then start again, and five minutes later...you get the point.
I was getting pretty freaking irritated. And I was getting a headache from the damn racket!

Then...I hear my son crying. OH HELL NO! It's on!
I go over there and Dylan is crying "No no! Don't hurt me! I'm just Dylan!"

And the little jerkoff kid has the zebra in his hand, arm cocked back, ready to throw it at my son's head. Again.
OH HELL TO THE NO!

I said "Hey! That's not very nice. You shouldn't be throwing your toys around."

As I brought Dylan back to the table one of the moms came over to her kid and said "That not nice, someone could get hurt."

Uh, someone DID get hurt you dumb idiot.
Of course, as soon as the mom walked away, the kids resumed throwing the toys. Little bastards.

I was about two minutes away from punching one of those kids or one of their moms, so we left McDonalds and headed back to Elizabeth's school.

I parked at the library and we walked around the block and up the hill to her school...this is because one of the girls in her class asked me yesterday morning if I had another baby in my belly.

Whah! I seriously wanted to cry.

Anyway...we picked up Elizabeth and were walking back to the car. I asked Dylan...

"How do you spell your name?"
"My name is Dylan! I'm Dylan!"
"Yeah, I know, but how do you spell Dylan?"

Dylan shouted "P-O-I-S!"

"No buddy. D-Y-L-A-N."
He repeated the letters after me.

"That spells Dylan. How do you spell Dylan?"

He shouted "P-O-I-S! P-O-I-S!!"

"Whatever."

The juice is loose...

Ordinarily, I'd never ever take a picture** of the inside of my refrigerator.
For one, it's a sad mix of condiments, leftovers and WIC items. I love me my government cheese and milk.
For another, who takes pictures of the inside of their fridge?? This isn't "Cribs"
It's not all Cristal and Red Bull and Fiji Water in there.
Ok, there was one half empty Red Bull.

Tonight I made a special exception.

I was on the computer just a little while ago, when I heard a tiny voice say...

"Mom! There's an orange juice problem in the fridge! It's spilled!"

"Well grab a towel and wipe it up."

"It's too much! It's too much!" Elizabeth yelled.

Fully prepared to arrive at the scene of a vastly over-reported accident...I went into the kitchen, peeked into the fridge, and...

"OH MY LORD! Get towels, get every towel you can find!!!"

My darling son Dylan had knocked over an ENTIRE can of Donald Duck orange juice all over the fridge.
Starting at the top shelf, splashing over the inside of the door, drip drip dripping onto the shelves below and pooling ever so nicely in my veggie drawers.

Gah!

I hurriedly removed every single thing from my refrigerator.
Wow. How long has that been in there?



Elizabeth was my item sorter (counter or trash) and towel hander (hurry hurry!).
It took eight towels, two crochet washcloths and a pillowcase to sop up the OJ.

Sigh.

I am SO buying a fridge lock.

**PS the picture of the fridge was taken after I cleaned up about HALF of the OJ...Notice how it pools in the veggie drawer...

Going crazy, taking you with me

Nine days left.
Nothing I need to do is done.
I'm too tired.
I've had some "issues" the last day or so. Private issues. Issues which make me glad I'm not having a regular birth...you know, with all the pushing...
Let's just walk away from this conversation now...together on three. 1-2-3


Baby is still sguiggling inside all the time. You'd think that HE'D get tired, but no.
Yesterday I watched some of those baby shows where the baby gets born and the parents take the baby home and fumble all over themselves. That made me laugh.
One mom was actually going to voluntarily get induced at 39 weeks (as in, not late yet) because she was "uncomfortable" and "couldn't sleep"
Uh, yeah, cause a newborn is all about comfort and sleep.
Stoopid.

Another couple, lord bless them I hope they got smarter, was planning to raise their baby vegan (which is fine if you do it right...see House last week) and also was cloth diapering and nursing, Yay!
But, the mom and dad were dumb, dumb, dumb.
The mom was feeding the baby and the dad kept asking when he was going to get to burp the baby. She said, "when I switch sides"
Then, like a five year old he starts telling her "Just switch now, switch now. Just switch now."
Ugh.
Bitchslap to that dad.
She was trying to get a one-day old baby on a feeding schedule too, so was keeping track of the minutes he nursed. It was after seven minutes that the dad was begging her to switch. Moron.
Then later on, the baby woke up from a nap and dad's first order of business was not change diapers or feed baby, but take baby out into the sunshine for a walk.
Are you kidding me????
Seriously.

I watched that show saying out loud "Where is that child's grandmother? Hurry up and visit!"
Oh boy, were they something else.

Anyway, I feel much more confident in my newborn parenting skeelz after having seen that total train wreck.

My mom will be arriving here next Friday, to take over Dylan and Elizabeth duties and also scrub my house. She's got a whole plan. She can't wait to get me out of here and safely trapped in the hospital so she can rearrange my pots and pans cabinet, launder all my curtains, clean out my freezer and all her other diabolical schemes. She's crafty like that. She'll probably figure out in two days how to get Dylan to clean his room AND poop in the potty, and then I'll have to officially canonize her and get a portrait of her on velvet to hang over my fireplace. Saint Nani!
Dare to dream!

In other news:
Last night we had spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. As Elizabeth warily eyed her serving (which was SMALL to begin with) I told her...

"This is the food you will eat for dinner. There is nothing else. There are no substitutions. Do not think that there are cookies, ice cream, cakes and candies waiting for you on the other side of this dinner. There is nothing. You will eat this dinner. This is all there is for you to eat until breakfast time tomorrow."

And she said (the little brat)
"I will think about that."

And proceeded to not eat one single bite of food.