Say "AAAAAHHHHH!"

Since talking my daughter for ear piercing wasn't so tragic,
                  my youngest had a 30 month well visit, that almost went well,
                                           and even my 8 year-old survived another "itchy" ear-clipping hair cut...

Dentist times three, sure why not!?

Lace the shoes, dust the cape-- time for a toothpaste covered nightmare!

It went nearly as smooth as that one time I attempted aerobics;
That's right, rhythm of hitting thruway rumble strips, exhaustion and sweat gluing the shorts in your ass and causing bumps on your thighs...I couldn't catch my breath then, and couldn't catch the toddler darting through the dentist office today...

Naturally, a long wait to be seen! Trying to entertain three kids with a gum wrapper, giant toothbrush-- sized to clean a ship, and a game of waiting room name that bacteria! Booger or crumb? Raisin or shit? 

My littlest, yep the one on the table, indulging in the waiting room's finest contaminants-- the mother load of public saliva covered toys! Nearly as health hazardous as eating a gummy bear off my car floor, yet a childhood necessity!

Immune system building and hand covering joy! No need to share...

 Ashlyn is thrilled, intensely thrilled, and amused...just look at her enthusiasm for my gum wrapper origami!

Quite entertaining to brush a bear's teeth, indeed... that is until, your brother rips it from the hands, leaving trails of bristle burn, and then runs off with it for his own pleasure!

Ashlyn sobs, as it was nearly a death experience, and Bostyn remains finding joy in using the brush for a sword, and attempts to knock the head off!

The poor bear's, one of many blows to the head, and the first sight of stuffing is exposed!  

I now have one child who thinks he's a ninja, one crying that the world is over, and another dumping my purse for entertainment, while whining, "I'm board!"

(yep, the one who is missing school for this, still not happy) 

There he is saying "ouch," and putting his leg back on, after Mama convinced him-- yes, you will go first...

And Bostyn watches in amazement, and dreams of cramming this giant brush

into brother's vulnerably open mouth!

So, the oldest does quite well, as far as I know-- not a clue really to the condition of his teeth, whether he chose cotton candy or bubble gum flavored fluoride, or even if teeth are currently still in his head-- as he was tortured in the hot seat, I was chasing a toddler, with a weapon, through the office, over the table, out of the bathroom...well, not exactly out of the bathroom, really I was trying to use the bathroom, and wouldn't you know he could independently open the door, and show everyone

Mama's "pirdy un'ies," bright purple un'ies to be exact!

There I was, doing a little hover-squat, mid stream at the peak of non-shutoff point,  full views shine down the hallway, full view shine up the crotch, and all I could beg was no one was looking...

Deer in headlights, no longer means shit, once you've seen full-view mother in squatting dog!

 (now there's your panic freeze frame) 

And I wish someone could have captured that photo for all to enjoy, as I had so many photos of the day but, not the coordination to share this priceless moment.

As I begged my child to shut the door, it was like making a deal with the devil; he simply laughed, knew I had no candy to fulfill my bribe, and then wanted to brush my hair with his weapon. Knocking my sunglasses down off my head, all I could beg was that putting them over my eyes would really make me invisible. 

 My thighs, so stuck with sweat from chasing my toddler already for miles, I knew a quick yank up of the pants, would not be an instant cover up! Rather, it required eleven motions of churning butter to get these suckers up on a normal day, and was going to be similar to getting a dry inter tube up over my hips!

Instead, I had glasses hanging off my head, hair wrapped in a giant brush with a tot beating it against my head...I'm yanked around by his controls, wishing I hadn't drank so much on the ride in, and shrieking, "Someone shut the door!"!  

A girl in the second exam room, giggles and stares...hopefully hooked to laughing gas, and not that she caught a glimpse of my three days unshaven glory or the dimples in my legs! 

 I swoosh my bangs back and walk from that bathroom like nothing happened, and don't I arrive to little miss filthy feet in the chair for her turn...

The dentist admired her flip flops so much, she took them off to show she had

disgusting feet just as admirable. She explained that she was such a fast runner, she'd throw a flip flop, and still win a race. How difficult it could be to peddle a trctor while wearing flip flops and that hopefully they were dirtier than her teeth...

In fact, she talked so much, they couldn't even get a brush in edgewise or clean her teeth, that's my girl...

With little chatter nearly taking up two appointments, they call for Bostyn to another room...

"No, don't go Mommy," Ashlyn whines.

Oh, trust me...mommy did not want to go, any worse than she wanted to go in that bathroom ever again!

Our first attempt to seat him in the chair...ended in a dart away and fall to the floor!

Second, was similar but, included knocking of an assistant's glasses...

The third was the "Look mommy's sitting" attempt, that ended with me laying back in the chair, stuck like a turned turtle, and gasping for air!

And finally, we (we- I mean three of us) finally get him to sit in the chair-- after four wiggling escapes, a tuck and roll, poked eye, and Mama beading with sweat, he will sit with only a choke hold grip.

Have you ever tried to put shoes on a slippery walrus, or stick your head in a lion's mouth? Me neither, but it has to be a similar experience...

Trying to convince him to open his mouth, "It's okay, I just want to brush your teethers! Lets make bubbles...you want toy tower tokens?" She tries everything, and who the hell was she kidding--

He wasn't going to open his mouth for Santa Claus or a new car, what the hell leverage did she have on a two year-old, using a token?

  

Then finally, like trying to force a wormer tablet down a dog's throat... we broke through the teeth barrior, and without much enamal damage. Nearly like, when gremlin meets h2o! 

Most of his brushing, I kept one hand braced across his forehead, and the other pushed against his chest. Yet, he just would not open his mouth any wider than the toothbrush, covered in bite marks, distance.

 Sure he could unlock and open a bathroom door but, not unlock his jaw and open his own mouth...

 "I'm just not sure that we'll get much better view at this age," and she acted as if defeated...

I however, was thinking a bit more of...  you're charging me $48.00 for a dental evaluation, you sure's hell better be able to see something other than largely inflating nostrils and foaming at the mouth...

So I brace my foot and go in for the fishhook, similar to steer wrestling, I twist till he has to open... 

Biting her finger a second time, and spitting purple latex, I knew if it happened again, she was going to ask for his immunization records before she continued or just ask that I take him to the vet next time. 

Her tugging at the corner of his mouth, and bubbles flowing down the sides,

made him look even more rabid than usual!

"Open! Brush! Brush! You like making bubbles? Do you brush your teeth a lot?"

Then, fresh from the mouth of my delighted 8 year-old, "Like never! He never gets his teeth brushed...all he does is eat tooth paste. Mom don't like dealing his biting and soaking the counter!

Once she threw out his toothbrush cause he scrubbed the floor with it, and he put it back in his mouth after being in the garbage! haha... It was funny"

Ha ha! If it wasn't obvious by the child's performance, he wasn't in regular brushing practice, 

the older blabber mouth was filling her in, and adequately leaving off the sugar coating to

impress a dentist...  

I glared a look of, Shut your mouth boy, this wasn't confessional, it was the dentist office!   

 He continued, on and on, "Once he squirted soap all over his tooth brush and mom made him brush..."

Now clawing my oldest in the arm, there I was...

in that ironic moment of making one child shut his mouth, while begging the other child would simply

open his mouth...

Although we weren't leaving with ribbons of high scores, or a belt buckle, Bostyn and I survived his first rodeo ride in the dentist chair, and miraculously the dental assistant and the toy tower survived his

smashing and smacking too...

He shook that sucker like a fat factory worker losing his last dollar in a vending machine, and when he was out of tokens ran the distance of the office, to snatch another handful from the exam room! 

"Oh, it's okay, he didn't like what he got the first time, did you...?"

Gee lady, weren't you really helping...he worked her like a runway, and collected more prizes, making the other two whine and "not fair!" Clearly she hadn't any knowledge of proper gumball machine edicate...

Simply, you get, what you get, and you don't throw a fit... 

Life's greatest disappointments were handed over after the crank of a coin machine!

The one you point out, is never the one that falls, 

and until gumball machine expenses are excepted on tax forms we will never continue attempting...  

Just when I could see light at the end of our appointment, nearly at checking out, wouldn't it be obvious to expect a three way shove over putting last tokens in, and turning...and then was the drop of a bouncy ball!!

Good Lord, worse than a Rottweiler chasing a tennis ball through church, destruction and screams left the timid little receptionist wanting to throw that token tower through the window, and tell her boss what she really thought of the job! 

And now he want's to open his mouth...

to show you why we don't run, when mommy tells us, "You're going to fall!"

Let's hope my children are as excited about brushing their teeth now, 

as they were about all their new treasures!

I'm excited to have six opened toothpaste bottles to fetch from the toilet,

and more cheap token shit for fighting over and to clog the vacuum...

 and you gotta love more tooth brushes directly on the floor

(good thing he scrubbs it on the bar of soap, before dipping in the toilet, and jabbing the dog) 

I could take a guess to why he is so exhausted, as am I, the locked-down dental office, 

as well as the crank on the token tower, and the poor bears gums...

But, I'm quite optimistic, he might just like the 3lbs. of frosting and sprinkles, off of a Horton's donut enough, to convince him he needs to hang on to that toothbrush...

Who the hell, would pick this profession pediatric dentistry, is beyond the sainthood of me...

There only 45 minutes; I had third degree burns on the back of my neck from fighting under the light, gobs of hair missing, and a size 7 shoe print across my chest, with permanent tread damage to the left nipple. 

And I was wrestling only one child today, my child, one I loved!  

Bless the people who wrestle other's brats, to simply brush the teeth that just bit them in the arm!!!!

Here is your purple heart <3... to match your purple swollen eye, and purple gloves...

See you in six months!

Good morning pissy-pants!

There are a few things that suck worse than Monday mornings…like an early Tuesday morning after a holiday, unloading groceries and a toddler in pouring rain, and ah…the joys of early morning, wet piss-covered sheets…

Rise and shine! This morning not awaking to smells of coffee, or sounds of birds, but rather the aroma of urine drenched beds, with whines and screams of hissing children, similar to that moment; when cat hits dryer!

Hadn’t I loved to pretend, I was done with buying giant packs of night time Pull-ups, no more slathering lotion on dry chapped buns, and through with sheets that sound like the wrestling of last crumbs from a chip bag.

Relapse!

Double header, or double wetter; This morning not one little pissy pants, but two…

My two year-old’s started with whines and whimpers at 2:00am, and the only way to omit those sounds from carrying into third and forth hours, was drowning him with a drink of water. Naturally, that giant overnight necessity, slurped from a soapy cup at the bottom of the tub, would end up recycled onto his bed sheets hours later...but at least he slept!

My daughter’s nightly mayhem however, was not as easily pinpointed; More of-- 10:00pm an itchy foot, 11:00pm spotting of a shadow, 11:05pm then the noise 12:00am the Velcro of her pillow-pet grazed her skin, with 12:02am meaning a band aide was necessary for her nonexistent injury (Yet, I Hello-kitty covered a freckle and kissed it anyhow) 1:00am I was summoned to lay with her, again, and it topped with the 2:00am bad dream…of a bug, that bites…(First taking her potty! I swear) now she comes into my bed…

Nearly 6:00am (much too early for our traditional missed the bus day) there it was; the tap,tap,tap, simultaneously felt with warmth on my back…

“Mama, I peed…”

She meant to say, “I pissed every where, like 30 gallons, and nailed both sheets, dad’s pillow, my blankie, your down-filled comforter, and sopped right through your memory foam mattress topper…please except this gift of three extra loads of laundry and join me for an early morning bath!”

She was so drenched, her bottom inches of hair dripped. Possibly how could such a small child, who went to the bathroom hours before, have nearly freed Willy with a giant aquarium sized blowout…not a clue. I even searched for the missing end of the garden hose—not in my bed!  Hum?

Through 5 inches of memory foam, numerous blankets, and still a puddle soaked on my mattress top. Spray, dab, Lysol, blot…no, not going to resolve this one. Fire up the barn fan, sprinkle with the Nascar speedy dry, or just hand me a match…

And attempting to strip her piss-glued clothing off, while growling and squirming, is as easily done as peeling an orange while wearing wool mittens! I needed a crowbar to pry her bottoms down off her thighs. Shimmy down, a tiny movement left, then right, and when it finally rolled down to her feet, what you had left was looking like a rolled purple pony condom for a dinosaur.

If it wasn’t bad enough turning the kid’s dirty socks right side out, now I’d have to reach my arms down each of the leg holes and try to disassemble pissy underwear and p.j.’s rolled together tighter than a cigar.

Yet, wouldn’t it be only after the tub was drained, and the floor dried, that soaked contestant number two would come on down. Walking like on stilts, tottering side to side, not to bend the cold wet against him, “Me not pee, Mama…just wet!”    …okay

His bed just washed yesterday, four blankets, along with 19 stuffed animal friends, soaked! I didn’t know if I was ready to burst into tears by now, or if the morning’s overwhelming ammonia was simply burning my eyes…either way, I was starting the day wanting to hang myself with soaked bed sheets!

Dragging a mound of laundry, he was abnormally clingy and ornery this morning, “Uppie! Want you!” Of coarse, because I had chased behind a swinging weed eater for continuous hours the day before and my arms worked as well as using chopsticks …so, if wrestling a wet king-sized, down-filled comforter, and two bed changes down the stairs was not enough, I was doing it with a 32lb. parasite attached.

The washing machine door shut only with a bit extra force, thrusts and a few hip checks, nearly through the wall. And it sounded in cycle like boulders going down a playground curly slide, and a boat propeller with half of a whale caught in it. It made so much racket, the dog thought someone was at the door, and barked each time it spun.  Shut-up!!

Anyone who attempted this over-sized garment duty knows; the

harder part of the process is the drying… Certainly raining, so it

couldn’t be hung on the line, and the dryer quickly wadded it into a

giant fruit roll up.

Stopping the dryer, I strenuously yank it back out, as pulling off a pool liner, while hog-tying then flipping, a wild bird on its back. Then I'd beg it wouldn’t stall when re-started again. Blowing giant bird gobs and feathers from the vent, anyone passing would surely assume I was attempting to collect a urine sample from an ostrich.

Then the dryer would shriek loud beeps and the lint filter light would flash again…so I’d pull out more gobs and beat the filter against the side of the garbage can. Choking and spitting feathers, I’d brace my foot against the dryer front, tug and pry, trying to flip the ostrich roll so the inside could dry. My laundry room looked like I’d been butchering meat chickens, and the intense yanks were like I was trying to teach that damn ostrich to lead… 

My plan for the day was to accomplish something, anything from

my “to do” list. So, I brushed the feathers off, and the tot and I

headed for groceries. What better was there to do on a rainy day,

while the ostrich flailed through the laundry room wall and the dog went nuts?

He insisted on a pack of gummy worms and chocolate milk, but the worms ending up tucked into the check-out magazines, and the milk dumped into his car seat before we left the store. If only he would just sit down and patiently get buckled, instead of making me hit my head, and drag him over the backseat, while mooning all the nearby vehicles.

Cleaning yet, another soaking mess using a few drive thru napkins and my sweatshirt to sop the puddle under his seat, then loading grocery bags while rain poured from buckets…I obviously hadn’t seen the shopping cart in front of my car, as I slammed it into gear the cart spit out compressed like a tuna fish can.

Ooops!

Next stop was preschool to pick up the darling little angel…the one who didn’t sleep much that night before… 

“Ugh! He got Chocolate milk?” 

sobbing

“I want strawberry then! Why did you go to the store?”

Kicking and pouting!

“You said you would paint my nails, and no one wanted to play with me today…I’m not eating any lunch, so there…”

It was a ride of furry! Frankly, the child talked so fast and was so

intensely hating the world, it wasn’t even necessary I respond to any of

her hisses.

I scrubbed and fired up every fan in the house to blow on

my mattress, and suddenly it was the best thing ever happening in the

day…I couldn’t hear a thing over top of all the motors spinning and

humming. It muffled out all the whines and cries, and was as lovely as

hearing waterfalls flow. Then it happened…ah, sleep little child! Both

sound asleep, and quiet! Thank you, Peppa Pig!

Please, just don’t pee all over my couch…

A field of sugar! No napkin necessary!

Just like that…suckered into chaperoning a litter full of highly sugared, over-excited cavemen...another glorious class trip. Second grade, the age of the never shutting yap, and stamina of a set of humming bird wings.

A mother’s involuntarily commited to being covered in fire ants, and joining a bus full of unrestrained hyperactive animals. Zookeeper for a day, sure piece of cake for most mothers, but zookeeper in a quiet theater to watch an endless play…takes miracles, duct tape, and three ibuprofen chased with Scotch.    

The chaos started while waiting to board the late bus-- We were standing on the sidewalk a mere ten minutes, yet seemed like an eternity for the patience of 7 and 8 year olds, lying all over the ground, fighting, and the complaining already starts. Teachers at maximum stress levels fought for the first buses, as the principle attempted direction, and every other school official seemed clueless to which buses were for each field trip. Our bus finally approached, and they screamed even louder, cheering like a cluster of drunken men at a play-off game. Kids were throwing rocks and then punches, and I was already feeling urges to throw myself in front of the bus’s moving wheels.

The torturous bus ride left me feeling a lot of things; mostly nausea, pounding in my temples, but every bump in the road made me feel my bladder bubble through my throat. I feared it was coming, and by the gallon, one thump of anything larger than a crossing snapping-turtle, and my pants would be wet.

Surely, the teacher had sent home a lengthy list of field trip preparations but, exactly who had time to read all three pages of it before it was covered in over-flowing pasta starch? I can guarantee, it mentioned of using restrooms before arriving to school…yet, I had earlier wrestled a spraying toddler on top the toilet, wiped another screaming child, and ran by it six times to wiggle the handle, for sanity of the continuous running trickles-- but who actually had time to sit down, risk being delayed by a jelly seat mauling, on a school morning?  

Instead, I searched for a focal point to distract my bladder from feeling like a kid mauling a water balloon…and anything that would help to drown out the kids screaming, so fiercely and directly into my ear, I could feel saliva dripping off my earlobe. To make matters worst, obviously when I had told my child, “Go up and brush your teeth,” this morning, he chose to go collect a pocket full of Legos instead. His teeth still looked of crumbled Colby, and his breath gave me goose bumps, which furthered my sensation to piss myself. 

Each time my restless child flailed around our seat, squashing our lunches a little more, was the only time I felt bladder relief; distracted by smells and sandwich remains, squeezed through the sides of the Ziplock blowout, and my mouth watered instead of my pants. I was starving, and could have busted that soggy, mangled sandwich from its disposable bag using only my teeth.

Best of intentions to starting the day with a healthy breakfast, was home collecting flies, on my kitchen counter. Naturally, I was braiding pigtails, packing my littlest a bag for ruining Grandma’s day, and attempting to chase my hair weasel with a curling iron, instead of eating soggy cereal. Like every other morning, I wolfed down the first three bites intensely, like a hog at the trough, but never got back to the remaining sludge until after my kids were shipped to school. 

This morning I had to drop Grandma the toddler bomb, walk my daughter to her pre-school class, before racing to the 2nd grade for the lecture, bags of lunches, and find the bus!     

No doubt the delayed bus made our class late, and we arrived to the theater with the show already in place. So, if chasing kids into theater seating wasn’t complicated enough...now, we had to do it in the dark and silently…

“Silently!” The usher kept holding a finger to his lips… Ha! They were like herding cattle into fenced shoots for vaccinations, and with a distinctively dressed and smelling vet, holding a visible giant needle! Each time we’d close in on the silence, one would backlash and circle back around to the door… “I don’t want to go next. Where’s Hannah? I want to sit by her…” 

Cranking on kid’s head tops, to realign their direction, “Shhh! Keep walking unless you want so much swelling in your vision you won’t be seeing dear Hannah again!” And don’t even make me jab my thumbnail under your rib cage to inspire you attention forward!

I was doing agility lines, like in a gymnasium fitness test, to corral their incapability to simply follow in a line. With one crawling over another, like piglets searching for the last teat at feeding time, I finally forced them into one row seating. And as I was just about to seat myself, a little girl darted into the seat I was unfolding… Really?

“Foolish child, do you really want all this voluptuous tonnage crushing down on the sparrow bones filling your leggings?” Wishing to avoid the flyswatter effect given by my back pockets, she wisely slid down a seat. There, she and the girl next to her would argue over the armrest the entire show.

“Mrs…. Tell her, I had my arm here first!”  

I told them to knock it off and share several times, and each time they’d blow snot, then push each other off. Back and forth, they’d teeter-totter on the armrest, and then I’d get, tap.tap.tap.tap.tap. on my shoulder. “Tell her…”

“Coldyn’s mom…?”

I was nearly ready to whisper down, “Yes, you tell her yourself,” pointing to the girl she was fighting with… “If the little woodpecker annoying the piss out of Coldyn’s mom doesn’t stop, because you can’t share with me, she’s going to rip off your right, and my left, and place them on spare armrests at the end of the aisle, and we may have them sewn back on at the end of the show!!” Apparently, my facial expressions spoke of a similar feeling, as they decided to call a truce after my final glare!

Certainly, my phone would still sound during the play, and noises of awakening a hibernating bear voiced from of my stomach. It was a long play, and if the after questions of numerous kids weren’t torturous enough, each class was dismissed independently. And wouldn’t you know; the interrupting last arrivals would obviously, be the last departures as well. We watched the entire theater dismiss, as our group hooped and moaned, and impatiently frolicked like dogs awaiting a frisbee… Like wormy dogs, sliding around the tops of the folded stadium seating, squirming as disturbingly as being drenched in gasoline, and then threatened with a match. The man with the microphone held the match, and was going to face the wrath of Mama if he didn’t start picking up the pace with our dismissal…

I had appreciated the wait before a dental procedure and found post-surgery recovery much more enjoyable than the zoology that was ripping at my hair, tugging at my shirt, and burnt into my sole. One teacher mauled so intensely, with children at her heels, the strapping of her flip flop tore off. Certainly it was all fun and games until there's a flip flop blowout…Us chaperoning mothers were not continuing on anymore out numbered, patching up the man-down using a band aide from a mother’s purse for sticking it back together.  

I considered offering up my flip flops, as the trip already seemed of walking on broken glass and hot ashes anyway, who the hell needed shoes…

The teacher again did headcounts, as did I, but not to count for missing, rather to ensure we weren’t taking any damn extras. The kids finally excused, rampaged out, the teacher skidding along in her repaired stride after...it was finally time for pouring back into the discomfort of the bus nightmare. The hot seat, the electric chair, a bed of nails, anything seemed more enjoyable than cramming back into holding cells designed for three foot tall children. Hot and humid, clammy children's hands covered with disgust of a homeless blanket.    

It was a nice sunny day in the city limits, but wouldn’t it make more sense to drive back home to pouring rain and a wet playground, before starting our picnic. The bus following, apparently did not see our bright yellow mass of 18 seats turning off the exit, and kept trucking straight past…unconcerned, we hadn’t a care if that bus was driving straight in to a pit of lava or off of a bridge, we were going to eat our smashed and sun-baked lunches without them…

I have to say—the reasoning for hyper action and outraged behavior in the children, was oh, so clear once assisting in opening a few bagged lunches. 90% were the contents of a vending machine, and the other 10%, included only my wilted sandwich vegetables mayo-glued against the bag, and the orange that was used for dodge ball.

Nearly every child had some kind of boxed Lunchable. More commonly know as; enough stale items to feed an ant, plastered with a full serving of preservatives, stuffed into box packaging, and yet, hassle free because it includes even a drink. Amazed as the company has brilliantly packaged them with our greatest requirement—water! Simple water, yet a warning, nearly bold printing… Do not drink “A” until mixed with “B”…a giant packet of 36g of sugar, Red40, and artificial strawberry kool-aide flavoring. Havens no, water was for ruining the bathroom floor and slopping in holes dug into sand, not for drinking!

If that wasn’t enough, a box of nerds, or pack of skittles, becomes an adequate serving side in a child’s meal. Some kids had simply the boxed lunch, others had additional junk food items sent along, and another girl had an attempt at yogurt, but no spoon. They were effortless attempts to meals, equivalent to sending a tissue box filled with leftover trick-or-treat candy and a few smashed crackers. 

All different Lunchable boxes; cold chicken nuggets, or a sub or pizza making kit… a tiny flour shell, a sauce packet the child couldn’t open, and lastly the assembling of finely shredded cheese…looking worse than a sink of whiskers after a man shaved, it left a mess just to prepare; yet small hands still had to figure out how to eat it, ...on a picnic, and without a napkin. The box had enough sauce for a large pan pizza, a sugared red beverage, along with an Oreo cookie and melted candy, but no full bib, or even a cheaply transparent napkin.

Seeming a mother no longer exerts herself with even the spreading of peanut butter, or pulling of the red bologna string, and still can not add a piece of fruit or a damn napkin to the bag… 42 kids on this field trip, and only two napkins in total…mine, and the other chaperoning mother’s! Mine ended up on the child’s lap, where the flimsy crusted pizza bomb had landed. And with no more napkins, I simply gave my spoon to the girl slurping and tapping the bottom of her yogurt, since her hands would soon be covering me.

Each child assembled directly on top of the park’s old picnic table tops, and one even slurped a wad of mayo from the wood. The child with the sub making Lunchable, smeared the enormous packet of mayo all over the roll, the table, wiping the remaining on his shirt, and then added the tiny portion of meat. A twin pack of Ho-Ho’s, and two packs of fruit snacks, made up the child’s remaining lunch…but, most likely because his teeth were rotted so severely, he couldn’t possibly eat an apple or a carrot anyhow…

Certainly, on occasion my children have enjoyed a Lunchable, but only as a snack, and after I had eaten the candy bar from it, everytime!   

I opened kid’s packages, foiled tops, and wrappers, in between each bite of my already chewed-looking sandwich…yet, wouldn’t my child sitting right next, be the only one to gnaw and tug at his Go-gurt tube without wanting help, then launch the glob of sour cotton candy into my hair. Wouldn’t some napkins be nice about now…

Then, came more rain… Thank the Lord!

I was a winner either way-- The trip would end early, or I could wash my hair...   

And with the miserable rain, washed away any feeling of guilt I had from neglecting all the things collecting at home on my lengthy check list (or realistically, nothing checked off list) The sky was as dark as the bags under my eyes, it would have been a perfect nap day, if that was ever possible…but, if I ever felt a nodding moment on that ride back, it wasn’t lasting long with little sewer breath, and the dragon-like child throwing steam in my ear.

The comfort returning and survival!

“Mom can I go home with you instead of back to class? I promise to brush my teeth…”  

Pet Cemetery

Indeed, one of the greatest adventures of living in the country is the wildlife escapades. Not every child missed the bus because their mother was chasing a woodchuck, or nearly hitting a deer in the driveway while attempting to read a library book or tie a child's shoes. 

It’s a long driveway, and thankfully gives warning sounds of approaching vehicles when dropping their transmission in its many potholes. Hearing the first visitor of the day pull up the drive; I walked to the door where I was greeted by a bunny head, yes...left on the porch by my favorite four-legged friend. The cutest little bunny, but only the head…

As I was removing the poor little furry head with the shovel, before my company stepped on it, or my already troubled children saw it-- I could hear the distinct sounds of my kids up to no good… They were in the house, but with a tortured, three-legged toad panting in a Ziploc bag. 

“Look Mom! My toadie!”  

“Yuck!” I chased them back outside, and told them to let the toad out. My two year-old mauled it in his hand while he road his bike, carried it in a pail, and on a sandbox shovel, and surely in no time, it also was among the pet cemetery…

After burring our friend, I got the urge to dig in the dirt. Like any other sunny day of gardening, I was disturbingly half-dressed, and would hit the deck like running from a grenade, if I heard sounds traveling up the driveway again. 

Less than adorable when digging in flower beds, surely not the typical attire of cute gloves and big flopping sun hat, kneeling so gracefully…rather, I generally wore an outfit most wouldn’t even wear to bed, or give to Good-Will. I was attempting to sizzle some of the glow-in-the-dark off a few fatty layers, with outlawed amounts of exposed skin, and sweat lathered like a plowing oxen, I dug...

I looked as if I had fought a rose bush for a candy bar, and flung dirt like a digging, wormy dog. To make things worse, I was earlier stung by a wasp, and my left eye bulging like I belonged on set with the costumed A-holes of Yo Gabba Gabba!

I was a hot-mess-- so, wouldn’t the sounds of driveway presence have timed so perfectly…spear chucking the spade shovel and with dandelion fuzz trailing my streak for the door, I rushed in as company was arriving.

Hiding in the laundry room, as a woman at the door was between me and the rest of my wardrobe. I was in search for clothing that wasn’t 2T sized, or covered in ketchup and marker, or under wet washcloths-- I came up finding the only thing to fit was a quite extravagant and covered in sequence blouse, and a pair of pajama shorts. My hands covered in dirt, and trying to change my bottoms like sliding layers of saran wrap down off my thighs, and my top was nearly the peeling of old shingles off a rooftop in July. Crashing between the washer and dryer, “just a minute, be right there!” My lungs were burning from over exertion, my skin burning from too tightly fitting clothing, bites, and the pickers…and sounds of laboring on the railway filled my laundry room.  

Flailing like on fire, there I was flushed and panting, in my dressy gown top, pajama bottoms, weeds in my hair, and inches of dirt all over my body and the giant sting display.    

A lady, staring through my door, studied my body with three passes, and almost forgot why she was there... “Aaa...Do you have a cat?”

Well, by looking at me currently—sure, you would think I was rather the crazy cat lady type. And possibly, looked of helping a cat bury its shit pile in the yard, fought off a threatening dog, and then climbed a tree to rescue that cat, while on my way to attending the Prom…

Then I thought; A cat? …are you kidding me?  All of this for a pet survey… I have no cat, the head of a rabbit, a bloody mouthed and vicious 7lb wiener dog, and a smashed toad, in a bag… but no cat!

“I just hit a cat in the road! It was awful…the worst thing I’ve ever seen and... it suffering…” 

Well, if it was the cat that had been getting into my garbage you did it a favor and diverted my next plan for it... but really? …the worst thing you’ve ever seen? ...luckily for her, she hadn’t caught a glimpse of me before my runway outfit wrestle in the laundry room, or seen the suffering endured by the seams of my original outfit… Not to mention the sight of a joy-filled toddler tugging legs from an upside down toad, or witnessed the earlier bunny slaying, surely all could have been worst sights! 

Sorry about your worries, but hitting a black cat didn't make you as unlucky as you thought...had she only traveled that driveway any faster or earlier today, she wouldn't even have looked back after nailing a cat... 

Later in the night my dog introduced us to the remainder of the decapitated bunny, and as if a night couldn’t be anymore eventful-- my husband always picked the most tiring days for insisting on a haircut…certainly on the only day of the week I had actually swept the kitchen floor and already showered the other critter episodes away.

Out came the clippers, and also came a puff of smoke, and rumbles of firing-up a diesel engine… Obviously, I was just mere back round noise when I had told him, “They were for hair, not beard trimmers...you'll ruin them!,” each time he was too lazy to shave for weeks.

He took them apart, attempted cleaning them, and as I refused to obtain the electrical shock and jack hammering throbs, he began a self-haircut. He was screaming, and I laughing, with every dull yank and the vibrating so profusely screws fell out, and the blade dangled. He now had a look of a Backstreet Boy, with shaven sides, a fluffy duck ass in the front, and non-functioning clippers.

He was in such distress, and I was not going to miss out on inflicting such marital torture, so I fired the tractor sounds once again, and mauled through his head. With each whine, I simply mothered him with, “you’re fine,” and efficiently mangled his head with more nicks and wounds than sheering of a sheep. Pausing to pull off kids’ socks, and chase them away all Clydesdale footed, my patience quickly traveled south in the Barbie car ride through the hair pile.

It was like trying to cut a 50 year-old maple tree using a weed eater, occasionally some bark would fly, and then the sounds would stall. With clipper blades now so hot, I attempted cauterizing each and every hair follicle, to ensure I’d never have to cut his hair again. Singes of hair and nearly a fire hazard, “Ah! You’re burning me!!”

“Hold still” and I cranked on his head to leave railroad track looking, clipper marks burnt in his neck.

Perhaps, they were a bit warm, as I threw the damn things out, they melted the trash bag. Next time it may be safer for him to lay under the mower deck, or remove his head like the dear bunny, and trim all the angles himself
...and just maybe my kids will get to bed on time if I’m not rinsing six little hairy feet off, and then unclogging the drain with a sucker stick! 

Late for bed again...

“Lay down, mommy!” and then it starts…

He brushed his teeth, went to the bathroom, turned on his fan, got a drink for washing down all his dad’s stray hair, kissed everyone goodnight and snapped Daisy ‘einer’s leg backward giving her paw a high-five, …so what was it going to be tonight?

The heat! He was sticky and overtired, and so was I. Both of us were seeking comfort in just a Tee and cotton bottoms. Well, I can vouch, there is no comfort in exposed sink when wild bird handling and gator wrestling a small child to bed. I was kicked and scratched, and all is well until there’s a small toe nail slicing at a hemorrhoid.

Determined to fight his exhaustion, he was flailing as gracefully as an old lady attempting to tackle a pair of nylons, with a bad hip and wet legs. Surely, I could have sustained less injuries and jerking outbreaks by competing in a three-legged race along side a partner with turret syndrome, and shoes on the wrong feet. He sprung from one end of the bed to the other, pressing his feet up against the near window, and tilling at his covers like a three-bottom plow. His window blinds now look like the little tattered waxy sheet found in the bag with the last slice of deli meat.

Then a tuck and a roll, and then finally a crash…after one hour and 35 minutes of being the rodeo clown, mauled by a restless Brahma, he was finally sound a sleep. Naturally, sideways across the bed and over top of my thigh, but quietly sleeping.

Now what? I can tell you any mother would rather amputate a leg with gnawing of their own teeth, than wake a finally sleeping toddler. But, the magnitude of this pair of heat rash hams was even more than my appetite could sustain, and there would be sight of day’s light long before any possible breaking through the circumference of a thigh like my own. So, inspired by craving an evening bowl of cereal, I wiggled free, dodged the squeaks in the floor, and the child slept!

I sat down long enough to drip milk from my overflowing cereal on the couch and whistle for the dog. Then, there it was…a loud noise!

Now what? My husband and I looked at each other…but, it wasn’t coming from the kids upstairs, rather the kitchen way and toward the outside door.

Don’t even tell me the stray cat has lived to mangle my garbage, once again. He

My husband gets up and as heroic as he is tiptoes, passing the bathroom door, he knocks! Was he waiting for a robber or wild animal to say, “Just a minute” …yank your tail out from between your legs and go see what it is. I however, stay back and continue with my cereal.

Then, I hear the noise again and his yelling…

“Are you bleeding,” I asked.

I go and see four fully-stocked shelves in the panty end of the laundry room have collapsed. He says, “I could have caught it…but, I feared there was a raccoon under it all…” Really, some strange things go on inside theses walls but, never anything larger than a mouse or toad to yet been found.

Now, 10:00pm and it looks like a B.J.’s wholesale truck has been jack-knifed in my dryer, and he dares to tell me it could have been avoided.

And there it was; all the aftermath of ridiculous buy two, get three free sales, shit bought just for gas points, and the coupon stock-aide smashed and heaped everywhere! A slight illness in fact, as apparently it became more sensible to collect out dated food, than to ever consider throwing out an expired coupon.

Attempting to unbury and reassemble, still in unfitting bottoms, inflamed lacerations to the hemorrhoid, and with every bending reach, wouldn’t it be my husband to mistaken such agility as an invitation for sex…  

“Poor Perry the Platypus,” I say, referring to the picture on the can of soup mangled, as bending for another, he’s thinking how to “bury the platypus,” and I’m trying to figure out how to get “Perry the platypus” and chicken noodle back on the shelf!

Wasn’t he a lot of help…stacking crap on the washer, like it wouldn’t have to be used, and sitting on a laundry basket eating the things that he hadn’t noticed on the shelves before.

Thankfully, I finished cleaning up my explosion and without finding a raccoon or a sticky-faced toddler at the bottom… I was going to bed, and not to bury the platypus, unless it was out with the toad, cat, and bunny!

Let the Summer begin!

No doubt, the first weekend of wonderful weather leaves a feeling of not enough hours in the day, and too many events in one weekend... Time once again to begin our children's direct I.V. connection of  sucralose nectar from thirteen half-drank Hug jugs, commonly consumed and wasted at every back yard function. Was the summer's new artificial flavor red40 or blue1? Either way, they packed the enthusiasm of drinking directly from the hummingbird feeder and have the nutritional value of slurping from a sandbox shovel in a mud puddle. However, it just wasn't summer without the permanent colored mustaches, fighting over flavors, and complaining of foil lidded cuts, until late September.

Now enjoying that time of year where you live out of your car, constantly traveling from event to party, sport to picnic, and never home doing the crap you should be... The backseats already looking like a child's school locker, and a bag of snacks, the blankies, and extra kids clothes go everywhere. Spare shoes and band aids as well-- for you were mom, but lost round one of the you're not wearing those battle, yet knew in only an hour the cheap plastic sandals, three sizes too small, would soon be defeated!

My preparing to leave for these kind of days were always the same-- I ran through an obstacle coarse, collecting extra clothes, sweatshirts for later, kicked toys out of the way, let the dog in, found the missing shoes, packed the food, answered the phone, told the kids to go change, again; and the husband packed his 6pk, leaving the empty ice cube trays, whined he couldn't find his hat, and pissed in the driveway while I loaded the car...   Every time!

But, we made it, and when first arriving to a child's birthday party who hasn't felt like-- dumping the gift out on the lawn, kicking part of it in the bushes, and throwing the un-opened card immediately in the trash..."ah,  and here's your unresponsive Your welcome and I don't want to be the one asked to bust this shit from its packaging later...

And never a kid's event without the damn pinata; was your kid going to be the winner of the bat through the front teeth, or turn into the instant pain in the ass with the largest bag full of teeth rotting agent? Either way your child wasn't leaving with the same good attitude or the set of teeth he arrived with. I say, put that hired clown to use; catching a rabid raccoon and throwing it in the trampoline enclosure, surely you'd have the similar outcome of screams of a sugar over-dosed batch of children...and without the cavities!

It saves the yelling to "back up," "take turns," and my favorite, "make a line!" They were attempting an adequate line, and with the same functions as Black Friday shoppers, or people running from a burning building, no one wanted to be at the back when that sucker split! But, after 15minutes of tirade, not a single piece of candy falls-- two front teeth have dropped, little four eyes lost his left lens, and super dad was rocked to his knees by the chubby little freckled girl's swing to the nuts...

Apparently, for the sake of entertainment; this is the wiser solution to greeting at a party with a measuring spoon and the canister of sugar off the kitchen counter. Unfortunately never happens, simply because we can not part with sweaty mauled sucker sticks of filth, the half-chewed wads and candy wrappers later covering our car floors.

"Welcome, glad you could make it! Here is your favor bag of cheap non-functioning China shit (always a must) and open your mouth...here's just a little thank you of 9tbsp. of sugar, and also your container of frosting instead of wasting three cup cakes! Now if you need to wash it down with a hug jug, there are eleven open ones on each table, and your kid's lips will share ten of them before the party ends..."  Enjoy!

Sitting at a group of picnic tables under a tent; I watch in aw as another mother frantically peeled the skin off her child's hot dog. I suggest, "simply walk over to the grill and melt your fingerprints off and destroy your nails, by wrestling a hot piece of charcoal" and hand your kid the bag of Doritos already! Now immediately yell to your child, nine times, to come and eat it...you may still offer it to your husband, and place a glob of ketchup before given it to the dog...and here, you can sit swatting flies off this jello bowl all day, instead of at a mangled hot dog no ones going to eat anyhow!"

Another mother, continued watching her child through the bottom of a wine glass, never comprehending the kid's deep cherry red image was simply because of lack of sunscreen, not Merlow reflection. But, later in the evening, as she was wrapped in her jacket, and he still un-shirted, she finally asked, "aren't you cold?" She then stupidly, places her hand on his back, "He doesn't feel cold, Hun!" Of coarse he didn't feel cold, his goosebumps were so sun burnt he was like grabbing a hold of hot curling iron!

I often wondered why someone wasn't just greeted with, "No one really cares for you... and someones about to get drunk and share this, and before we sacrifice three bottles of water and waste the last un-burnt hot dog on you, I think you should just leave now!?

At this time, my toddler drops his pants and pees directly under the food table. Not noticing, I was intensely begging one of the balloons on the trampoline to pop already, so the screams from the loudest-mouthed brat would be muffled by the choking of latex pieces. Instead, my entire outfit would be greeted by my two year-old's hands, urine drenched shoe lace, and his hot dog bun containing 9lbs. of ketchup. He was happily eating just the wienie, fully bathed in ketchup, with his black little hands and dark finger nails, standing proudly over his puddle of urine.

So, I asked my husband for napkins, naturally by the third time, I received recognition of my speaking...
and he brings me one frick'n napkin...one! My pants look like I had assisted an elephant in giving birth and the child looked like he squirted ketchup down the chimney and then slid down it multiple times.
What the hell was I going to do with one napkin...one cheap napkin wouldn't even successfully block his air way if I chose to cram it down his throat...

Now, Mr. conservative today, yet if we were talking of his use of laundry soap or him pouring a toddler an over-flowing mixing bowl of cereal, for collecting flies on the table the remainder of the day...no acknowledgment of waste.

Same thing always went for baby wipes-- You could have an infant clutched by the ankles, spinning its covered ass around like an auger, and he'd hand you two wipes! Really, I was thinking more of cracking the window open and feeding in the garden hose...but two wipes? (and nearly dry because no one could ever shut the lid tightly on them) Two might get the shit caked out of your wedding ring and possibly your thumb nail... But, they weren't handing you only two wipes and then taking the baby off to the tub...apparently, they were waiting around to see a damn magic show, with two little white barely damp, squares and what looked like a septic back up on the living room carpet...

Possibly, we could capture some attention on this matter with  magically turning his 30pk into a 6pk, next time we grocery shopped, conservatively.

Keep your "one" napkin, I could do a better job with the dog licking and then skimming the floating shit off the kiddie pool and splashing its kool-aide and toddler piss mixture to my face. And weren't we always thrilled that the first thing ever asked when arriving, "Did your kids bring their swim stuff? ...We also have a slip'n slid"...just as disgusting, only more hazardous as the landing is sharp rocks and the bon-fire pit!

But, I changed them to go collect bacteria-filled scrapes, grass stains, and goosebumps anyway-- Should have just whipped one of their shoes across the neighbor's lawn, threw their dry, clean clothes directly into the piss pool, and rolled the towels in ketchup and the sandbox before it all began. I could have as easily, smashed two heads together, jabbed a rock through his foot, and passed out kisses and band aids immediately, instead of later interrupting my buzz and having to leave my chair. But, soon enough, there's crying and bleeding, we can't find hair barrettes and sunglasses, or missing shoes (and never the too small, cheap pair, always the newly expensive ones to get left behind) I have successfully covered my children in enough filth to ruin their bed sheets tonight, as dragging them from the car would be enough excitement, there just isn't need for attempting baths.

Kids are intoxicated in sugar, over-tired with exhaustion, and like wrestling sticky, wet gators into car seats. When I finally have one to the car and go for a second, there's a Popsicle on pavement sized melt down, and your husband and the first child are missing once again! But, with patience enough for two more hours of, time to go tragedy, summer is just approaching, and the calendar is already filling; I'm sure the best of melt downs and sugar comatose moments are yet to come, and if you can't handle the heat...make them eat the damn hotdog skin, and take a little dunk in the kiddie contamination pool!