tricks

isn't it too early for halloween pranks? aren't they too young for halloween pranks? my halloween is off to a rocky start. pooptastrophe. for real. maybe our worst one in almost two years. which means maybe our worst one ever. it's the kind of pooptastrophe which is only made worse by a resistance to being changed on the changing table. "because, like, i'm like two mom. i don't need a changing table." yes. but you still need a diaper. so don't get all i'm too big for this on me. you'll be too big for this when you're too big to wear diapers. and i'm pretty sure we'll have a big ceremonial changing pad bonfire. can't wait. but until that day. fine. i'll change you on the floor. whoa. didn't see that one coming. but i should have smelled it. except i think my nose has started selectively turning heinous scents off as a manner of self preservation. thank you, nose. pooptastrophe. made worse by changing on the floor. and then made worse by a not so innocent bystander bystanding way too close for comfortable to catch an up close glance at said pooptastrophe. only saving grace is that R is now at the point where when i say "R. bring mommy wipes. a lot. stat." she obliges. that's helpful. so we started with a pooptastrophe. trick number one. how fun would it be to apply our fun new halloween tattoos (temporary. what am i travis barker?)? it would be fun! they're like stickers. but better! because they won't come off. oh shit. they won't come off. so when two 23-month-olds keep saying "sticker. off. sticker. off. sticker. off." guess what? they don't come off. that's what makes them great! or horrible. whichever way you look at it. rookie mistake, mommy. trick number two. now off to a new story time (after washing machine loaded with trick number one). a new story time! at a new library! how exciting! how exciting? not exciting. no sitting. no listening. no fun. R actually climbed into her stroller to show me she was over it. and C kept saying "go." ok right. but wait, there's more. mommy selected this story time because there will be a guest appearance by, wait for it, elmo! just a quick walk to elmo. elmo is here! we hate elmo. we're a little bit like, why isn't elmo in my television? or in my book? why is elmo 9 feet tall and 463 pounds? he's a giant red shag carpet monster. other kids are hugging him. how bad could he be? R: "go. elmo all done." and we're off. apparently elmo in person bites. figuratively speaking. he didn't bite anyone. that i saw. trick number four. good God that's four tricks before 11 am. where is my damn treat? maybe they need a treat. it's halloween. stop. milk boxes. this one is plain milk thankyouverymuch. no pixie sticks. off to the car while enjoying your milk box. delicious milk box. delicious milk now spilled all over one small lap wearing orange pants and a stroller which will now smell like rotten eggs for all of eternity. what's halloween without a few thrown eggs? trick number five. someone is screwing with me. i'm home now. two loads of laundry in progress. five tricks already played on one played mommy. and no treats. i want my damn treats.

treats.

um, no

who knew there could be so many "no's?" i didn't. i was a kid who accepted the word no. or i watched my older sister get read the rights at which point i was totally ready to go with the "no." chicken. hey, save yourself. but what i am realizing now, as i hear myself speaking to two almost terrible two toddlers (actually they couldn't be farther from terrible) (most of the time), is that "no" has metamorphosed into the land of infinity. or the autumn mist. or narnia. wherever it is, it apparently does not mean no. no means no right? i saw the public service announcements. no. it doesn't mean no. apparently. here is how i know no does not mean no. (read that sentence again. i am now at the point where i don't think no is spelled correctly because i've written it too many times. and i am confused by words like know and now. this shall pass).

-no. works 1 out of 10 times.

-no, no. usually used after above failed no. works 1 out of 10 times.

-no way. usually used for destruction, ie. someone is throwing, not a soft plush ball my way, for example, but a wooden pottery barn shape sorter. because that should be thrown. at my face.

-no, absolutely not. i feel like this is reserved for occasions that R and C know are out of the question. but proceed anyway. like the dog's bowls. haven't we been over this at least 9,834 times? yes, i believe we have. that gets you an absolutely not. seriously. the dog has to eat. for the love of God.

-big no no. this is the non-negotiable. big deals. when R repeats it, it sounds like BEEnono. it's reserved for the self-diaper-removals and the biting (only one episode. that i know of). "alson. bite. fin.er. BEEnono."

guess what? no doesn't mean no.

it's like lloyd (dumb and dumber, circa 1994).

Lloyd: What are my chances?

Mary: Not good.

Lloyd: You mean, not good like one out of a hundred?

Mary: I'd say more like one out of a million.

Lloyd: So you're telling me there's a chance.

have my kids seen this movie? no. or whatever the word is for they haven't seen this movie. since i now am questioning my own definition of no. no matter what i say, they still think there's a chance. i'm afraid if i got all whitney houston on them with the "hell to the no," then that will be on repeat for the next week. their teachers don't need to hear "hell to the no." (how funny would that be, though?). (seriously). (if it was someone else's kid). i think, instead, i'm going to start saying "no chance." adding that to my repertoire. "cookie" at 8 am when flax oatmeal with applesauce is on the table. "no chance." perhaps this will make it more clear. "up up up up up up" (in stereo) when i'm trying to cook dinner during the crazies. "no chance." it's a revolution. and my hope is that it will indeed sound like a whisper. (thank you if you just got that).

maybe what lloyd needed to hear was a little hell to the no.

babysitter boo hoo

i need a babysitter. er. we need a babysitter. my one golden babysitter is gone. she's gone (oh i, oh i'd better learn how to face it. she's gone oh i, oh i'd pay the devil to replace her she's gone). oh hall and oates. i miss her too. sniff. who hand delivers you someone you have known for years and love and trust who just returned from a world tour as a celebrity nanny to twins? God. that's who. God delivered our babysitter to me and now satan has taken her away. and i am babysitterless. do you know how hard it is to find a good babysitter? hard. i was going to try speed dating babysitter match up but then i thought again. you pay $100 for someone to find you random college students and then you stand up and introduce yourself and the matches begin. um. i went through sorority rush once. that ship has sailed. and i'm pretty sure my request for babysitter for two delightful two-year-olds will go over like gangbusters. and what am i paying $100 for? a list of college students. hello i'm on the facebook. i can find college students. and i at least need you to background check for crazy criminals. so i did my own college student search (not on facebook thankyouverymuch). i said there would be background checks and early education majors were preferred. oh yeah and they have to like [big] dogs [hyper]. what crazy criminal is going to agree to a background check and walk into a house of a big hyper dog with two two-year-olds? watch a moving made for tv movie staring meredith baxter birney and you will know. because this is how my mind works. i will come home and my children will be gone and my dog will be dead (in really bad bad dreams it is dead a la fear. i hate you marky mark). i asked my spouse if it would be weird to check identification. you know, to make sure she is who she says she is. of course he said yes. when i ask "is this weird" questions, they generally end in "yes." but in my made for tv movie staring meredith baxter birney after i find my kids missing and my dog departed, i will call the police and say "crazy criminal" stole my kids and killed my dog and the police will say "ma'am [don't police always say ma'am in made for tv movies?] no one exists by that name. did you check her driver's license?" duh. no. i didn't. i didn't check crazy criminal's driver's license because my spouse said it was weird. this weird perspective is counter clockwise to my mother's perception of my finding a babysitter. she. was. appalled. this woman could write serious made for tv movies. hers could pull in a-listers like kathie lee gifford. no M.B.B. rapid fire questions. "well how do you expect me to find a babysitter?" it was as if i pulled up to the local jail, threw keys to my home into the cafeteria and shouted "anyone like kids? come over!" so now i'm just bitter. and researching background checking. and anyone named "crazy criminal." and nannycams. and what it will be like to never leave my house again. boo. hoo.

i totally went to this concert in 1996 and sashayed my 21-year-old bootie up past a vast quantity of bitter 45-year-olds so that i could be in the front row. because it was important to be in the front row. at a hall and oates concert. shame.

boxed beverages

if you want to know what happens to pixie sticks when they are mixed with high fructose corn syrup concentrate...just drink an organic vanilla milk box. seriously. i thought it was healthy. even though it's milk (and i use that word lightly) that doesn't have to be refrigerated. hmm. i thought milk was a dairy product. that, i don't know, turns sour/bad/rotten/retched when not refrigerated. bygones. apparently the magic milk box needs no refrigeration. and it needs no taste resemblance to milk either. it's organic. what does that mean exactly? the corn which the high fructose corn syrup is derived from is organic? fabulous. fabuless. my kids go to school. they see other kids' lunches. damn kids. those other kids get boxed drinks. my kids get water. boxed beverages are only for special occasions. like the pink franzia of my yesteryear. way yesteryear. my stomach just turned typing this. no one should ever say the word franzia. let alone put it in writing. so my kids see other boxed beverages and i think they, or she, as it may be (you know twins. they always get blamed for something even if only one did it), was actively coveting someone's boxed beverage. happened to be a milk-like boxed beverage. the teacher reported that she was really into it. read: she was hardcorepressing the kid for his/her boxed milk beverage. i of course went out and procured milk-like boxed beverages for my kids to bring to school. oh the peer pressure. i'm pretty sure this won't happen when lilly shows up at 10th grade with a brand new BMW and the creepy gym teacher tells me how much R wanted that BMW. so i got them vanilla. because chocolate sounded too sugary. vanilla somehow sounded more innocent. the night before school i decided to give it a taste. just to see what vanilla-milk-like-boxed beverages taste like. you know what? it's. dis. gusting. sugar in a straw. sugar in a box. sugar everywhere. not even the good kind of slurpee sugar. this sugar is like a pixie stick gone wrong. gone beveraged. so besides the sugar, the idea that "milk" did not have to be refrigerated was bothering me. so i looked into it. stop reading now if you like your organic milk boxes. carrageenan. i believe this is our culprit. it's a "thickening agent." as if that doesn't sound gross on it's own, you can make your own carrageenan by boiling down irish moss. yum. and i believe the reason you don't have to refrigerate this organic milk-like product is because it is superpasteurized. that's an official term. i don't know what that means. but they must pasteurize the hell out of it. and then double pasteurize it. like a double dare. regardless. this i know. it is not superpasteurized enough to make it taste like franzia.

well, it's no organic milk box. thank God.

move

i think we're getting to the point where i feel that every day is a "kids say the darndest things" submission in some cheezy magazine. like, oh that was so funny when your daughter said "purple panties." and don't act like your husband wasn't wearing them. or how about when you said your son told you to "eat more chocolate, mama." oh yeah. that really totally happened. but i feel it happening. like when R called my boobs "balls." i feel it's going to get worse. i feel within moments of a good "you should stop singing now" or a "leave me alone" or how about a "i remember that time you almost lost me in a bookstore and i'm not over it." i know this sassiness is enroute. and i want to stop the presses. "move." oh i must not have heard that right. even though he was attempting to move my leg as he said it. "move." nope. i heard it. my not-even-two-year-old just told me to move. oh i'm sorry. i was blocking your view of my stunning stylish elmo bandaid that i wore publicly unknowing the public display because i have no other bandaids or other necessities in this house that do not pertain to your utter pleasing. i admit i totally laughed. i couldn't help it. i started to think...where did he hear such a thing? who is responsible for such disrespect? i never say "move" to my children. but wait. my former child, now sometimes nemesis, the dog. i totally tell him to "move." every day. several times a day. he huddles around the high chairs for any delectable or even heinous morsel and he gets in my way. he's huge. he has to move! note to self: watch language towards dog around children. i knew this would happen. they say this happens. thank God C only copied "move." i'm sure there has been far worse than that. take the "move" kid. and run with it. it's better than "m-er f-er." (p.s. i say it exactly like that. not censoring for family-friendly blogosphere). or "punk-ass." (p.s. that one is real too). so all in all, i'll take "move" as a copy. i'll also take R's copy today of "bummer." i'm pretty sure we're about to up the anty on the sassafrass. i'll keep you posted with my parent's magazine mykidissomuchfunniersmarterthanyourkid entries.