Wanted. Big, Hairy Man.

We have monsters in our house. Three of them.  Self proclaimed.  They huddle up and cry out "Gooo little monsters."  After the huddle, they disperse. Set off for the hunt.  To find the biggest monster.  Bigfoot.  Bigfoot has been a part of our lives for a while now.  He lives in our home.  Apparently.  Somewhere.  Just one more monster to have around the house. I'm just glad I didn't have to give birth to him.

The huddle.

 



The march.

The hunt.



The tools. Walkie talkies.  And drumsticks.


 

I've made him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and gotten him Chapstick.  Because he likes to have pink lips. According to Grady.   And really, what big, hairy man wouldn't?


Grady has an arrangement with Bigfoot.  He takes care of him.  Sets ups his supplies.  Right next to our bed. Thankfully, it's on Sean's side. Because I'm scared of big, hairy men.

We hear Grady at night, shuffling between rooms. Gathering Bigfoot's necessities.

Bigfoot had big needs.

• A pen and paper.  In case he has complaints.  
• A scale.  To weigh his big, hairy ass. 
• A green Power Ranger.  They join forces.  Slaying any unused tampons.  Grady and Dempsey  taught him that.  
• A Power Ranger's mask.  To go undercover.  
• Books.  To outsmart the little monsters. 
• Shirt, tie, pants, and a belt.  For his day job.  Flushing bananas down the toilet. 
• Binoculars.  To spy on the neighbors.  Something he definitely didn't learn from me.   
• Money jar.  To pay for his vacation.
• Thomas backpack. For his vacation attire.
• Pillow and blanket.  Just in case someone slips him some Benadryl when he's up too late.   Again, I certainly don't condone this.  
• SpongeBob flashlight.  To whack Patrick in case he gets out of hand.
• Dream light.  Because they're ugly.  He likes that. 
• Boots.  For tromping through post bath floods.
• Diapers. For his babies. What the hell was he thinking?  Hasn't he learned anything living here?
• iPad charger.  For when he steals our Netflix. 
• Firetruck.  For emergencies.  Like when the little monsters play with matches. 

Lillian?  She's not so nice.  She's focused on the capture.

Hole digger.

The obstacle course.  Bigfoot's demise. 

 

Fáilte.  Welcome.  She welcomes him.  To fall in the hole.  In Celtic style.  That little slip of paper?  Bigfoot's eulogy.

 

And me?  The hell with Bigfoot.  I'm just trying to trap the hairy beast who created these little monsters.  If you have any information on his whereabouts, please call 1.800.Scaryhairyman.  Please do not approach.  He is heavily armed.  See picture below.  

Wanted.  Man on top. 






 

Trickster.

Grady likes to play tricks. 

He dumps out all of the freshly washed clothes.  And mixes them with the dirty ones.

He visits each bathroom.  And uses everyone else's toothbrush.

He switches around the furniture in Lil's dollhouse while she's at school.  When she returns, she finds the toilet in the kitchen.

He puts Lil's old, pink, training potty on the floor of our closet.  Beneath Sean's hanging clothes.  And pees in it. 

He watches out the window for Sean to return from work.  He tattles on him.  "Daddy is talking on the phone.  And driving naked."

He finds Sean's deodorant.  Then rubs in on his face.  And asks for a big kiss.

He puts milk in the beer fridge.

When I peek in to see if he's asleep, he clenches his eyes shut and snorts.  Like a pig.  His version of pretend snoring.

Last night, Grady switched the nightstand lamp from my side of the bed, to Sean's side.  And switched Sean's phone charger from his side, to my side.  We laughed.  Then many hours later at 2am, we were jolted awake by the sound of the lamp base rattling by Sean's head. 

Grady was stealing the lamp.

But.  He got busted.

We sent him back to bed.

This morning when we woke up, he was passed out in our bedroom doorway.  He had been waiting for us to fall back asleep.  So he could attempt his thievery once more. Trickster.

He makes faces to divert attention from the stolen goods that he's sitting on.  He even convinces his brother to get in on the act.  Dempsey's eyes give it all away.

Grady's idea of a great outfit. 

He sleeps with this on so he can surprise Big Foot in the middle of the night.

Ruff. Ruff.

I thought we were in the clear.  My boys and I would win the Family of the Day award at Dempsey's two year old check up.  It really couldn't get any worse than what we walked in on as we entered the waiting room.  An eight year old  boy on all fours.  Wagging his butt and panting.  With his tongue hanging out.  A bark squeaked out.  He pawed at the doctor's legs.  "He's really come out of his shell hasn't he?"  Dog boy's mother commented.  She was wearing, what appeared to be, pajamas.  To my untrained eye of course.  The doctor looked down at the boy and calmly said "Well, I'm not up for petting a dog today but I sure could do a high five." 

Yup.  I'm good.  I'm doing great.

My first mistake was taking Dempsey and Grady into the closet sized bathroom with me. The one right next to the waiting room.  And the front desk.  And two exam rooms.  It's a very small office.  It's also very quiet.  Dempsey threw his penny into the sink's drain and started chanting "poop, poop, poop."  Just in case someone might be wondering what I was doing in there.  At least he wasn't barking.

It's all fun and games until your kid hits you.  In front of the nurse. Right after he hits his brother.  Who's flailing on the floor while said nurse listens to his heart.  Kids were running from exam rooms, jumping from exam tables, sticking their nasty feet into the sink, and begging for gum.  And they were all mine.  The kids.  The ones doing the naughty stuff. 

And next up is the Naughty Family.  Oh wait.  That's us. 

Grady had already lost television privileges for the day.  For some cockamamie family house rule like, Don't stab your mother with your breakfast fork.  He had also lost out on chocolate milk.  That was for screwing up family house rule #4.  Thou shall not poop more than three times before lunch.   

The last of my awesome mom credibility was lost when the doctor lifted up Dempsey's shirt.  He was spotted.  Red spots covered his belly.  And his back.  "Oh."  I stated lamely.  "That's the first time I've seen that."  Said the slack ass mom.  Because really, it was the first time I had seen it.   But how?  How could this be?  I had just changed the kid's clothes an hour earlier.   Maybe he was allergic to Dr. Stopjumpingoffmyexamtableandgetthehelloutofmyoffice.  Or.  Maybe.  I'm just a slacker. She assured me it was a viral rash.  Nothing to worry about.  She asked if he recently had a fever.  I remembered that someone recently had a fever.  Sure!  YES!  YES, he did just have a fever!  It was him!  I swear it was him!  The kid whose name starts with a D! 

I'm back in. 

The doctor left and we waited for the nurse to return.  It was time to get my game voice on.  I had to make a quick recovery.  As loudly as Dempsey had chanted 'poop', I shouted, "We mustn't use our feet for jumping in this jail exam cell.  Please use your inside voice.  Let's clean up this mess and take these borrowed toys back to the waiting room.  Just like cleaning up at home!"  I winked so hard that I got a headache.  They looked at me like I was barking.  I sure hope Dr. Stopjumpingoffmyexamtableandgetthehelloutofmyoffice heard me.

I still felt pretty good about myself when we got home.  Until I remembered last week.  When Dempsey licked the dog.  And used his toothbrush to clean out his belly button. 

Then I walked in on Grady combing his penis.

Ruff.  Ruff.

You licked Finn WHERE???

The Bottle.

Dempsey recently turned two.  This is what Lil and Grady looked like when Dempsey was conceived.

HA HA Mommy...you're pregnant AGAIN???

What were we thinking, you might ask?  I.have.no.idea.

I woke up one morning with a symptom.  A symptom that I've only ever experienced when I'm pregnant.  It has happened every pregnancy and never at any other time.  This is what prompted me to take The Test.

I hadn't even finished peeing and there were two bright blue lines.  So bright in fact, that the infant that was still attached to my boob took notice.  Things were about to get interesting.

We were leaving to go camping with our family in two days.  My dear mother-in-law had purchased multiple cases of wine.  I just knew she was going to kill me.

How to break your mother-in-law's heart?  And oh yes, how to tell the husband?

I did what any awesome wife would do.  I went to the liquor store.

I purchased a bottle of Maker's Mark.  And five lottery tickets.  One for each of us.

I put the tickets, and The Test, in a shot glass on the counter.  I placed The Bottle next to it.

When Sean got home from work that night, he walked right past it.

So I did what any awesome wife would do.  I asked him if he wanted a shot.

The next thing we knew, Dempsey was born.

Um, yea, he's living where?



Beginning in February, Dempsey will go to a two year old program, one day a week.  It will be the first time, in over five years, that I'll have two and a half glorious hours to do whatever.I.want.  I'm already planning my first day of freedom.  I am going for a run.  I will chose a route near a playground.  I will run past that playground multiple times.  Mocking it.  I will clap my hands.  Then wave them in the air.  Next I'll do a fist bump, to no one in particular.  Because I can.   I won't be pushing a stroller.  One worth my weight in kids and the stuff that comes with them.  And because no one will be screaming at me that they must.play.now.  When my run is complete, I'm going to swing.  While guzzling my bottle of Maker's Mark.  Take that playground.

Toddlers can attend the two year old program as soon as they turn two.  This is different from preschool and kindergarten cut off dates.  The cut off date for kindergarten, in our state, is September 1st.  Not that it means much.  I'm a rule follower.  To me that means, if your kid turns five before September 1st, they start that year.  If not, the teachers have a reprieve from said child for another year.  Apparently, the new thing is to hold your child back.  Regardless of when their birthday falls. So they can be the oldest in the class.  Have an advantage.  Read first, add and subtract first, hit puberty first, and drive first.  There are very good reasons for waiting another year to start kindergarten.  I'm in full support of those good reasons.  But it is kindergarten after all.  Not everyone can be first.  Or be the best.  It's supposed to be a classroom of five year olds.  Not seven year olds.  It's good to suck at something.  I purposely try to suck at something on a daily basis.  Other moms are like "HA, HA, you suck!  Let's be friends!"  Sucking at something = making friends.  Kindergarten 101. 

I want Dempsey to drink first.  So I'm holding him back.  So one day, he can bring in The Bottle.  Of Maker's Mark.  To kindergarten.

What the hell are you cryin' about?  I'm the one that's got problems.  Mom's making me start kindergarten when I'm FIVE!

Library = High Rate Hooker

The boyfriend.  Tonight, as I scrubbed the kindergarten off of Lil in the bathtub, she told me her friend has a boyfriend.  And that she has one too.  I started scrubbing harder.   That kindergarten is hard to get off.

Lil - "Daphne has a boyfriend."
Me - "Who?"
Lil - "Cole."
Me - "I think kindergarten is a little young for boyfriends."
Lil - "I have a boyfriend too.  Liam.  L-I-A-M." 
Me - "Since when?"
Lil - "Since the first day of school.  I didn't tell  you because I know I'm not supposed to have one."
Me - "Well, what does having a boyfriend at school mean?  What do you do together?"
Lil - "Well, he doesn't know that he's my boyfriend."

And that my friends, is the best kind of relationship to have.  Smartest girl in America.  And she knows how to spell too.


I've been slacking.  Grady's been wearing shorts and t-shirts out of the house.  Without a jacket.  He does wear rain boots.  And carries a broken umbrella.  With a sharp, metal piece exposed at the top.  So he can stab monsters.  Dempsey wears a coat.  But no shoes.  Lil will wear a sweatshirt.  I sneak  a jacket into her book bag.  So it looks like I care.  She does put on underwear most days.  Chocolate milk and Cinnamon Toast Crunch have been doled out regularly.  Along with other candy bribes.  By 9am Grady is reminding me that he hasn't had any sugar yet today.  And I laughed this morning when Grady chucked a sippy cup at Dempsey's head.  Because he wouldn't stop talking.  I've also been having some relationship issues with the library.


I wish she never knew that she was my girlfriend.  That I really, really loved her.  The library and I have not been on the best of terms recently.  You might say she's trying to dump me.  I didn't even know we were officially a couple.  Until she started charging me for her services.  That temptress!  She lures me in with  her puppets, movies, play areas, and free books.  She issues library cards to each member of the triple threat.  Smiling.  The.entire.time.  Then she has the nerve to expect those books to be returned.  On time.  All twenty three of them.  Every three weeks.  She practically throws books into our laps.  I didn't even want Sneezy Louise or What to Expect When You Find Out Your Girlfriend's a Hooker.   When one happens to go missing?  She charges me 25 cents per day.  Per missing book!  Right now I owe approximately $38.02.   Library = high rate hooker if you ask me.  As of now, Grady and I are DELINQUENT.  That's how she refers to us.  So we just use Lillian's card instead.  That hooker has no idea what she's in for with that girlfriend.

To make ourselves feel better, Grady and I did facials today.  Do these look like delinquent faces to you?  I think not.

Oh I can Grady. I can.  Catch you.

 

Two seconds later.  Mask starts to dry.  "It's burning, it's burning!"  He screams.  Facials with mom, fail.

 

Bras are way overrated.

Reasons Why I Am Cool

I had no idea what Gangnam Style was until a week ago.  Lillian came home doing this crazy dance, after a sleepover with nanny.  I had no idea where this dance came from, only that Lil and nanny thought it was hilarious.  I thought they made it up.  Lil called it Gangnam Style.  I didn't think much of it until one night I asked Sean what the hell it was.  He dragged me down to the computer and had me watch the video. I felt so...uncool.  My five year old is cooler than me.  And so is my mother.  How can this be?  I had to make a list.  So I would remember, why I am cool.

Reasons Why I Am Cool

1. I can go to the bathroom with a child sitting on my lap. 
2. My cell phone flips open.
3. I've never paid for a pair of underwear.  Thanks mom...and Victoria's Secret Underwear of the Month club.
4. I write blog posts about dog poop.  For money.
5. I can eat an entire pound of bacon.  Two if it's a holiday.
6. I can run fast.  And skate even faster.
7. I can catch my kids.  All three at the same time if I trip two of them.
8. I eat spinach every morning for breakfast.  That's how I have the strength to trip my kids.
9. I know how to ask "May I go to the bathroom?", in Spanish.
10. My all time favorite movie is National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.
11. I still remember how to read. 
12. I wear Converse sneakers.  In three different colors.
13. I've almost mastered indoor stair sledding.  All my idea.
14. I'll never wear skinny jeans.  Ever. My butt is too cool for those. 
15. I can shit, shower, and shave faster than Sean. 
16. I can do just about anything one handed. 
17. I'm the mom.  And I said so.

So maybe they are all cooler than me.

The cool crew.

You look cool to me mom!

Mom's trying to be cool again.  I have no idea who she is.

 

Relax...I'm the Mom. I Know What I'm Doin'

It's New Year's Eve.  I'm driving in the van with the triple threat.  I had changed the course of the evening's events multiple times.  Just because I can.  I'm the mom.  Our plan included dinner and a trip downtown, for a First Night kid's event.  Lillian questioned me.  As five year olds do.  I told her, "Relax.  I'm the mom.  I know what I'm doin'." 

 I made up stories as I went. 

Well, we have to eat first because the party starts late.  We can't go until it's dark. 

The bar restaurant was busy.   We left without eating.

Let's have ice cream for dinner!  Downtown! 

I pull into a garage to discover that parking is $20 on New Year's Eve.

There are noooo parking spaces!  Let's go to McDonald's!  We'll eat inside and then have ice cream there!

I find a free parking space. 

Let's have ice cream downtown and stay for the party!  Then we'll go to McDonald's.  But we'll have to go through the drive through.  The inside will be closed later.  Because it will be dark.  And we can't have ice cream there.  Because we already had ice cream.  For dinner.

I lie. A lot.  And they believe it. 

My friend Amanda mentioned the other day that she had no idea what she was doing as a parent.  And she wondered if she was doing things right.  I'm with her.  I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.  And I'm pretty sure most of it is not right.

The days go by.  Faster and faster.  I do things.  I don't do things.  We go to sleep and wake up. I do the same things that I said I would never do again.  And I forget to do the things that I know I should do.   Things that I've done that are right.  That I say I'll do every day.  But I don't.  There are time I want them to grow up.  Now.  The next minute, I want them to be babies.  Forever. 

There are mornings I say okay.  When the kids ask for a pop at nine o'clock in the morning.  I'm feeling fun.  Or I think I'm cool.  Or maybe I'm just lazy, and don't want to argue.  Other days I look at them like they are crazy for asking.  Then I wonder why they don't understand when I say no.  On days when the morning begins with whining and sibling battles, I tell them it's going to be a long day if they keep that up.  Because that statement will stop the whining, right?  Lillian tells me she likes long days.  It gives her lots of time to play.  Well that backfired.  I must find a different approach.  I should do that tomorrow.  I think I said that yesterday. 

I shove a paci in Grady's mouth when he's grumpy, tired, or just because he's talking to much.  Then I tell him I can't understand what he is saying.  Because he has the paci in his mouth.  Next, I make up some cockamamie story about Santa needing every single damn paci in our house.  To give to the babies.   We did take all the paci's this Christmas Eve.  While he slept.  He's three and a half.  It had become an obsession.  It seemed like a good idea.  Until Christmas Eve.  I'm horrible.  We are horrible parents.  We are taking away his beloved PACI! On CHRISTMAS EVE for Christ's sake!  Sorry Christ.  Grady will hate Christmas Eve for years to come.  FOREVER maybe.  We've scarred his future children.   Grady couldn't have cared less.  He hasn't mentioned the paci since.  Lillian fell for it too.  She spotted a baby in the mall.  With the exact.same.paci.  That used to be Grady's.  "That's Grady's PACI!"  She exclaimed.  "Santa must have given it to her!"  And Grady... he couldn't have cared less about the stupid baby with his paci.   He just wanted to know how long until Santa comes back.  I told a him a whole year.  "Are you trickin' me?"  He asked.  Would I lie to you?

I make Dempsey take a nap at different times every day.  Then, some days, I might skip it.  If it works better for me, of course.  And I wonder why he won't comply.  So maybe I've change the time on the clocks a few time.  Just for him.  In case he's super advanced.  And can read a clock.  See...it's nap o'clock dempster doodle!  Sleepy sleep time!  You're tired right?  Look, you are yawning!  Oh, you are sooooo sleepy.  And poof!  He's asleep!  So I lie.  A lot.   I'll think about that tomorrow.  And remember that I should have thought about it today.

I tell Lillian to slow down.  One thing at a time.  And stop asking me for so many things at once.  Ten minutes later I screech,  Put on your socks and shoes.  Brush your hair and teeth.  Wash your face.  Do you have a sweater?  Where is your jacket?  We are late.  We should have left ten minutes ago.  Wait...where are your pants?  You must wear pants.  You can't wear those pants though.  Those are play clothes.  What do you mean you don't know the difference between play clothes and not-for-play clothes?  Those are  faded black.  The other pair are dark black.  Whatever the hell color dark black is.  Isn't that a mascara color?  Wait, why am I asking you this?  I don't want you to know about mascara.  Why are you asking me about mascara?  You're five.  Slow down.   Today I wish she could just get ready all by herself.  And meet me by the door.  I lied.  Wait for tomorrow.

Moms take note.  No matter if we are right.  Or if we are wrong.  Or if we haven't a clue as to what they hell we are doing.  Ever.   Our children believe every single cockamamie story that we tell them.  Which means they also believe us when we say I love you.  And that's no lie.

This year, I'm going to find something new that I suck at.  And something new that I'm great at.  I am going to take unscheduled naps and wear play clothes.  And I'm going to remind myself to relax.  I'm the mom.  I know what I'm doin'.  And that's no lie.

No!  Mom said I'm her favorite.  I get to go first.  I lied.

Mom!  Dempsey's hanging on for dear life from the tire swing!  I'll think about that tomorrow.