I realized today that this is it. This is how I'm going to die. I'm going to be a mother until I expire from this world and pass on to that great big playground in the sky. Hopefully I won't always be trying to make dinner with someone's arms wrapped around my legs while their face screams into my rear end in desperation for a cookie. I'm praying that someday they figure out how to transform their own transformers, there-by freeing up years of my life. But I know that one day I'll look back while they are rolling their eyes and sighing at having me speak to them in public and I'll miss the simplicity of hearing them say "Mom. Mom. Mom..." continuously for 15 minutes straight. No matter what stage of life we enter, I will always be mothering them. Forever.
Days like today, I start to think about the consequences of my actions. Things I do today will forever alter the future of dozens of people. What if I'm too lenient and I end up with sons who are lazy, shiftless hobo's? Or worse yet, what if I'm too strict with the result of pushing them away until they rebel against all reason and wind up in prison? It keeps me up at night, trying to figure the balance required in raising well adjusted humans fit for society. There are some behaviors that I'm not sure I can ever alter in our boys, no matter the degrees of discipline or leniency. For instance; I wonder if Jack will always chant what he wants until he beats down the very spirit of the person opposing him. Someday I'll probably get a phone call from the future Mrs. Jack Everett that begins with "I'm going to kill him if he doesn't stop saying 'chocolate cake and a trip to Maui' ". It takes a high level of patience and a good imagination to withstand 45 minutes of hearing nothing but "dead dog and chips, dead dog and chips, dead dog..." (dead dog means hot dog in Jack-ese, in case you hadn't guessed. We do not eat dead dogs at our house. Just hot ones.) and I spend a lot of time on a deserted island in my head when he goes into one of his rants.
And then there's Mitch. Oh, Mitch. Will he always think boxing is a form of endearment? Will we be required to wear protective gear at his wedding? I picture his bride as a solid girl who can take a hit, and whose father is a dentist willing to do on the spot repair work. One of the Everett catch phrases is: "Hit him back!", but no one ever does. People are squeamish about hitting a baby for some reason. They wouldn't be if they lived with a two foot Sugar Ray.
When I think of my children as adults, I realize that even when they are over 6 ft. tall and have children of their own, I will still be worrying about them, praying for them and loving them day and night. I will probably find myself laying in bed at 4 am, wondering if Jack has made his yearly appointment for a physical, or if Mitch has found his wallet yet. I will be doing what I'm doing now until the moment I die, which will be a lot sooner than the 90 years I had envisioned if Mitch doesn't stop riding his tricycle down the porch stairs. That kid is going to give me a heart attack.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
What did you just say to me?
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Oddly enough, I had titled this blog BEFORE Jack decided to tell his side of the story. I chose to keep it because it was just too good of a coincidence. When I came back to my computer to continue blogging, he pointed and exclaimed proudly "Look Mommy! Nine horses!". It's a good thing he told me what it was about, because there was no way I was going to guess the story he had written was equine in nature.
Two weeks ago a candle fell off the mantle suspiciously. I say suspiciously because when asked, all the children who had been present at the time said that "no one" had broke it. Jack had not been in the room when the candle was broken by no one, but the sound of glass shattering had his little feet pounding the floorboards to get to the scene as quickly as possible. He came screeching around the corner yelling "What happen?" and I threw my hand in the air like a traffic cop, causing him to stop mid-stride. His expression said that he fully expected me to place blame for no one's crimes on his tiny shoulders, and he took a step towards me as if to seek reassurance that I wasn't mad at him for today's mayhem. I gave him a kind, but stern look and told him to "Stay where you are, pumpkin." until I could get the glass cleaned up. The incident was quickly forgotten, at least by me. It must have stuck with my little guy however, because a few days ago I was folding laundry in the back of the house and heard an odd crashing sound coming from the front room. On a destruction scale, it didn't sound massive- more like slight, so I yelled "Jack! What are you doing?" and got the instant reply: "Stay where you are, pumpkin!". Nothing else would have been so successful in making me run the length of the house faster, but when I got to him I saw that he had only dropped a tote bag full of hot wheel cars. As I drew in a shaky breath and moved forward to help him, he stopped me in my tracks with the hand in the air, traffic cop style and I full on belly laughed. Apparently this was not a mess that I needed to get involved in, and I left my little mime to it.
These young people are always watching, aren't they? It makes me feel... amazed, scared, pressured and more than a little creeped out that my every move is under scrutiny and could be repeated at any time. Probably at church. I thought I had been doing a really good job of watching what I say, but I guess not. Yesterday, Mitch kept bringing items to me that had been on top of the fridge. At first I didn't realize what he was doing, and I would take an object while muttering to myself "I thought this was on the fridge? Hmmm." I was sufficiently distracted in that it took me three times before I caught on to him, but in my defense he was being more covert than any two year old has a right to be. He was moving the barstool back along the wall before he would bring me his prize. Sneaky, right? I thought so too. Once I caught on, I belatedly started trying to assert myself with discipline. Do I have to tell you that it didn't work? Probably not. He would give me his vacant stare with a charming half smile and a big eye blink, then run away to play and bide his time. Some time would pass to find us in the same positions once again, with the same results. On one occasion I caught him in the act and exclaimed "Damn it, Mitch! I told you NO!". I didn't even realize what I had said until an hour later when Jack came running to find me, yelling "MOM! Damn it, Mitch!". Sigh. Now when Mitch starts doing anything that might be deemed inappropriate, Jack tattles by saying those three little words. Mitch is going to start thinking that's his full name soon. Other children get middle named when in trouble, not my kid.
Oddly enough, I had titled this blog BEFORE Jack decided to tell his side of the story. I chose to keep it because it was just too good of a coincidence. When I came back to my computer to continue blogging, he pointed and exclaimed proudly "Look Mommy! Nine horses!". It's a good thing he told me what it was about, because there was no way I was going to guess the story he had written was equine in nature.
Two weeks ago a candle fell off the mantle suspiciously. I say suspiciously because when asked, all the children who had been present at the time said that "no one" had broke it. Jack had not been in the room when the candle was broken by no one, but the sound of glass shattering had his little feet pounding the floorboards to get to the scene as quickly as possible. He came screeching around the corner yelling "What happen?" and I threw my hand in the air like a traffic cop, causing him to stop mid-stride. His expression said that he fully expected me to place blame for no one's crimes on his tiny shoulders, and he took a step towards me as if to seek reassurance that I wasn't mad at him for today's mayhem. I gave him a kind, but stern look and told him to "Stay where you are, pumpkin." until I could get the glass cleaned up. The incident was quickly forgotten, at least by me. It must have stuck with my little guy however, because a few days ago I was folding laundry in the back of the house and heard an odd crashing sound coming from the front room. On a destruction scale, it didn't sound massive- more like slight, so I yelled "Jack! What are you doing?" and got the instant reply: "Stay where you are, pumpkin!". Nothing else would have been so successful in making me run the length of the house faster, but when I got to him I saw that he had only dropped a tote bag full of hot wheel cars. As I drew in a shaky breath and moved forward to help him, he stopped me in my tracks with the hand in the air, traffic cop style and I full on belly laughed. Apparently this was not a mess that I needed to get involved in, and I left my little mime to it.
These young people are always watching, aren't they? It makes me feel... amazed, scared, pressured and more than a little creeped out that my every move is under scrutiny and could be repeated at any time. Probably at church. I thought I had been doing a really good job of watching what I say, but I guess not. Yesterday, Mitch kept bringing items to me that had been on top of the fridge. At first I didn't realize what he was doing, and I would take an object while muttering to myself "I thought this was on the fridge? Hmmm." I was sufficiently distracted in that it took me three times before I caught on to him, but in my defense he was being more covert than any two year old has a right to be. He was moving the barstool back along the wall before he would bring me his prize. Sneaky, right? I thought so too. Once I caught on, I belatedly started trying to assert myself with discipline. Do I have to tell you that it didn't work? Probably not. He would give me his vacant stare with a charming half smile and a big eye blink, then run away to play and bide his time. Some time would pass to find us in the same positions once again, with the same results. On one occasion I caught him in the act and exclaimed "Damn it, Mitch! I told you NO!". I didn't even realize what I had said until an hour later when Jack came running to find me, yelling "MOM! Damn it, Mitch!". Sigh. Now when Mitch starts doing anything that might be deemed inappropriate, Jack tattles by saying those three little words. Mitch is going to start thinking that's his full name soon. Other children get middle named when in trouble, not my kid.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Phone Calls From The Edge
This morning I took a call from a dear friend who was so hungry for conversation with anyone who remembered her real name was not "Mommy-can-I?", that she was huddled in her frozen garage with the lights off in the hopes that the children wouldn't find her. When she whispered where she was I couldn't help but be a little jealous that I don't have a garage; it would be the perfect place to have a kid free phone call. Mothers everywhere know exactly what I'm taking about, sometimes you desperately need to talk to someone without having a little person stand in front of you crying, tattling, begging or babbling. My personal goal is to be able to call someone without having to also wipe someone's bum at the same time. I'm not sure what kind of radar Jack has, but if he hears me talking on the phone he runs to the bathroom and minutes later starts yelling for assistance. I guess I shouldn't complain about that because it's actually worse when he comes to me, turns around with a full moon, saying "Mommy, wipe." And no matter how casual I try to be, there's always an awkward pause from the person on the other end of the phone call when I murmur "bend over and stop wiggling." I HAVE to explain what I'm doing at this point and unless I'm on the phone with another mother, I sense a sad wave of pity rolling over the line. I know. I try not to think about it too much or I'll go mad.
So, this morning we spoke about everyday things; a mutual friend's health, grocery shopping, what to make for dinner, and where to get a dress altered for an upcoming wedding. But you would have thought we were passing along state secrets by the way we were acting. I say we because of course I was whispering back to her, have you ever tried to talk normally to someone who is hiding? It cannot be done. You may start out with the intention of remaining aloof, but eventually you will realize that you are speaking in hushed tones too. The simple fear of exposure is contagious and I couldn't help but hold my breath along with her when she hissed "SHH! They're getting close...".
When enough time had passed that she was confident of retaining her sanity if she returned to the fray, she emerged from the darkness of her cell, hand shielding her eyes from the sudden glare of a beautiful Saturday morning to find that her 2 year old had given himself full sleeves of permanent sharpie ink. Was this worth the 15 minutes of self imposed exile to speak with someone who understands how she just needed to hear a friendly voice in the midst of chaos? Absolutely. Besides, it was a lifesaving measure. The kid was eventually going to draw on himself anyway and by taking the time-out she was calm enough that she didn't kill him. I'm probably going to save my children's lives next week when I call my friend from the suffocating darkness of my closet to ask for her mother's russian tea cakes recipe.
So, this morning we spoke about everyday things; a mutual friend's health, grocery shopping, what to make for dinner, and where to get a dress altered for an upcoming wedding. But you would have thought we were passing along state secrets by the way we were acting. I say we because of course I was whispering back to her, have you ever tried to talk normally to someone who is hiding? It cannot be done. You may start out with the intention of remaining aloof, but eventually you will realize that you are speaking in hushed tones too. The simple fear of exposure is contagious and I couldn't help but hold my breath along with her when she hissed "SHH! They're getting close...".
When enough time had passed that she was confident of retaining her sanity if she returned to the fray, she emerged from the darkness of her cell, hand shielding her eyes from the sudden glare of a beautiful Saturday morning to find that her 2 year old had given himself full sleeves of permanent sharpie ink. Was this worth the 15 minutes of self imposed exile to speak with someone who understands how she just needed to hear a friendly voice in the midst of chaos? Absolutely. Besides, it was a lifesaving measure. The kid was eventually going to draw on himself anyway and by taking the time-out she was calm enough that she didn't kill him. I'm probably going to save my children's lives next week when I call my friend from the suffocating darkness of my closet to ask for her mother's russian tea cakes recipe.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Drunk Driving
One of the things I really dislike about being pregnant is the morning sickness. I find that if I always have something in my stomach, things seems to go easier on me, and that's resulted in the weight gain of 7 pounds so far. This is not a good thing. How can I be gaining so rapidly while I'm throwing up so regularly? It's another side effect that just doesn't seem fair.
Last night I waited entirely too long to eat because Jordan was working late and I wanted to eat with him. Silly me. This is survival of the chubbiest and I'm here to win. So, when things started getting dicey in the digestion area and I knew I couldn't cook anything at this point, I loaded the kids in the car and we made a mad dash to Carl's Jr. I knew I was in trouble however, after I rolled up the window while driving away with our food. The smell was overwhelming and I didn't have much warning- just enough to pull over, unlatch my seat belt and open the car door before I lost all dignity on the side of the road. Almost immediately I was awash in the strobing red and blue lights of one of Douglas' finest and my first thought (right behind "Oh my good hell") was that he most likely assumed I was drunk. Just then I hear him ask in a disgusted and exasperated voice "everything alright, ma'am?" and I knew I was right. Mitch chooses this moment to yell "Daddy!" (because his dad turns on the over head lights when he shows the boys his work truck), and I hear the cop heave a 'why me' sigh at the knowledge that not only have I been drunk driving, but I have small children in the car with me. If I had had any extra sympathy in me right then I'd have felt sorry for him, but unfortunately for him everything I had was all over the pavement. I was still occupied, and couldn't even raise my head to look at him so I waved as cheerfully and reassuringly as I possibly could in his general direction and between heaves I called out "Morning sickness!" heave- couch-cough "I'm alright!" groan- cough groan "So embarrassing!" heave-cough-sniffle "I'm sorry!". I tried to gesture to the bags of food next to me and told him the smell sent me over the edge. Meanwhile the kids are in the back seat laughing like they HAD been drinking. I imagined that it was going to take all night to sort out the situation but when I finally raised my head to look at the poor man through bleary eyes, I saw that he was actually more uncomfortable than I was. He asked me if I wanted him to call someone to come help me, and as I shook my head I was hit with another wave so I was unable to continue the conversation. He quickly mumbled something reassuring (I think I also heard a "congratulations" but I can't be certain) and backed away to the safety of his cruiser. That was it- no breathalizer, heel-toe walking or counting backwards tests. I was incredibly relieved, but also a little let down. I guess I really have the whole motherhood persona down pat, if against all evidence it's hard to believe I'm anything other than a woman having morning sickness on the side of the road at 7pm. I'm not sure if I should be offended or not.
Last night I waited entirely too long to eat because Jordan was working late and I wanted to eat with him. Silly me. This is survival of the chubbiest and I'm here to win. So, when things started getting dicey in the digestion area and I knew I couldn't cook anything at this point, I loaded the kids in the car and we made a mad dash to Carl's Jr. I knew I was in trouble however, after I rolled up the window while driving away with our food. The smell was overwhelming and I didn't have much warning- just enough to pull over, unlatch my seat belt and open the car door before I lost all dignity on the side of the road. Almost immediately I was awash in the strobing red and blue lights of one of Douglas' finest and my first thought (right behind "Oh my good hell") was that he most likely assumed I was drunk. Just then I hear him ask in a disgusted and exasperated voice "everything alright, ma'am?" and I knew I was right. Mitch chooses this moment to yell "Daddy!" (because his dad turns on the over head lights when he shows the boys his work truck), and I hear the cop heave a 'why me' sigh at the knowledge that not only have I been drunk driving, but I have small children in the car with me. If I had had any extra sympathy in me right then I'd have felt sorry for him, but unfortunately for him everything I had was all over the pavement. I was still occupied, and couldn't even raise my head to look at him so I waved as cheerfully and reassuringly as I possibly could in his general direction and between heaves I called out "Morning sickness!" heave- couch-cough "I'm alright!" groan- cough groan "So embarrassing!" heave-cough-sniffle "I'm sorry!". I tried to gesture to the bags of food next to me and told him the smell sent me over the edge. Meanwhile the kids are in the back seat laughing like they HAD been drinking. I imagined that it was going to take all night to sort out the situation but when I finally raised my head to look at the poor man through bleary eyes, I saw that he was actually more uncomfortable than I was. He asked me if I wanted him to call someone to come help me, and as I shook my head I was hit with another wave so I was unable to continue the conversation. He quickly mumbled something reassuring (I think I also heard a "congratulations" but I can't be certain) and backed away to the safety of his cruiser. That was it- no breathalizer, heel-toe walking or counting backwards tests. I was incredibly relieved, but also a little let down. I guess I really have the whole motherhood persona down pat, if against all evidence it's hard to believe I'm anything other than a woman having morning sickness on the side of the road at 7pm. I'm not sure if I should be offended or not.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Brad Pitt is my spirit guide.
Pregnancies have a lot of symptoms, some of them you hear about all the time; morning sickness, fatigue, weight gain just to name a few. There are however, a few side effects that are not as frequently talked about. One of those is crazy-messed up dreams and it affects me deeply. If I say the words: "I had a dream last night" to my husband, he automatically groans because he knows it will tax his mental faculties just to follow along in the retelling. Now through the power of internet, you get to experience it right along with him. Enjoy.
Last night I found out that my husband was sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to have an affair with some random floozie down the street. When I found out about it I was a puddle of misery, lying on the floor sobbing in despair. The worthless swine, right? Just as I was starting to think of ways to kill him slowly, Brad Pitt appeared to me and gently raised me from the floor. He enfolded me in his understanding arms and held me while I finished crying, which didn't take long because I'm not sure if you were paying attention, but I sure was. BRAD PITT was comforting me. Even in my dream I knew this was a little bit strange. So as I sniffled my last sniffle, he wiped my tears, kissed my forehead and stared deeply into my eyes. He told me "everything is going to be alright". Oh. Okay. If you say so. I mean, Brad Pitt doesn't lie. So I forgave Jordan and we all three happily went to the Louisiana bayou to go on an alligator hunt. We were practically skipping in euphoria. Nothing deals with a philandering husband quite like looking for gator. Sigh. I know. It gets better/worse.
We were in this rickety boat, in the dark, in the swamp... I cannot imagine a worse experience for me in reality, but in my dream we were having the time of our lives. It was something we were planning on doing again and again for the rest of our lives. Brad Pitt loved it more than anyone, as he was grinning from ear to ear. And before you ask; yes, I'm aware that I keep calling him by both names. I was unable to call him by just his first name, and Mr. Pitt seemed too formal for all that we had been through. He didn't seem to care either way, thus he got last named.
Jordan couldn't see Brad Pitt, but he knew he was there. Some things you just have to accept on faith, like Santa Claus and the Smurfs, and this was definitely one of those times. Every once in awhile we would come to an intersection of sorts in the pathways of the swamp and Jordan would turn to me to ask if we should "try this one". I would then turn to Brad Pitt, who was like an infinitely hotter Jiminy Cricket by this time, and raise my brow in question. He would give me a small but decisive nod and I would tell Jordan that "Brad Pitt says it's okay." My undoubting husband would then reply "Well if it's good enough for Brad Pitt, it's good enough for me." And off we'd go. This went on for what seemed like hours.
When I woke up I had to make a serious effort to try to wrap my mind around the concept of the dream. I lay awake pondering the hidden meanings and symbols etc., but I finally came up with this: Brad Pitt came to me when I needed him most, he was sympathetic, caring and a true friend. He helped me through the grieving and forgiveness stages of betrayal, then stayed with me until my confidence was back. Everyone needs Brad Pitt in their lives. He is all around us, and if we just open our hearts and accept him, I think that world peace would be possible.
Or maybe I'm just dangerously low in iron and vitamin D. I'll eat a few cheeseburgers while I think about it some more. Brad Pitt says it's okay.
Last night I found out that my husband was sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to have an affair with some random floozie down the street. When I found out about it I was a puddle of misery, lying on the floor sobbing in despair. The worthless swine, right? Just as I was starting to think of ways to kill him slowly, Brad Pitt appeared to me and gently raised me from the floor. He enfolded me in his understanding arms and held me while I finished crying, which didn't take long because I'm not sure if you were paying attention, but I sure was. BRAD PITT was comforting me. Even in my dream I knew this was a little bit strange. So as I sniffled my last sniffle, he wiped my tears, kissed my forehead and stared deeply into my eyes. He told me "everything is going to be alright". Oh. Okay. If you say so. I mean, Brad Pitt doesn't lie. So I forgave Jordan and we all three happily went to the Louisiana bayou to go on an alligator hunt. We were practically skipping in euphoria. Nothing deals with a philandering husband quite like looking for gator. Sigh. I know. It gets better/worse.
We were in this rickety boat, in the dark, in the swamp... I cannot imagine a worse experience for me in reality, but in my dream we were having the time of our lives. It was something we were planning on doing again and again for the rest of our lives. Brad Pitt loved it more than anyone, as he was grinning from ear to ear. And before you ask; yes, I'm aware that I keep calling him by both names. I was unable to call him by just his first name, and Mr. Pitt seemed too formal for all that we had been through. He didn't seem to care either way, thus he got last named.
Jordan couldn't see Brad Pitt, but he knew he was there. Some things you just have to accept on faith, like Santa Claus and the Smurfs, and this was definitely one of those times. Every once in awhile we would come to an intersection of sorts in the pathways of the swamp and Jordan would turn to me to ask if we should "try this one". I would then turn to Brad Pitt, who was like an infinitely hotter Jiminy Cricket by this time, and raise my brow in question. He would give me a small but decisive nod and I would tell Jordan that "Brad Pitt says it's okay." My undoubting husband would then reply "Well if it's good enough for Brad Pitt, it's good enough for me." And off we'd go. This went on for what seemed like hours.
When I woke up I had to make a serious effort to try to wrap my mind around the concept of the dream. I lay awake pondering the hidden meanings and symbols etc., but I finally came up with this: Brad Pitt came to me when I needed him most, he was sympathetic, caring and a true friend. He helped me through the grieving and forgiveness stages of betrayal, then stayed with me until my confidence was back. Everyone needs Brad Pitt in their lives. He is all around us, and if we just open our hearts and accept him, I think that world peace would be possible.
Or maybe I'm just dangerously low in iron and vitamin D. I'll eat a few cheeseburgers while I think about it some more. Brad Pitt says it's okay.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Power Rock
I inadvertently put the world at risk of nameless horrors today when I threw away Jack's power rock. I bet you didn't even realize the danger you were in for about 7 minutes around 10:15 this morning, did you? I didn't either until Jack set me straight. It's such a normal looking thing that I had no idea the fate of billions rested on this one little rock that had found it's way under my foot all morning. After the 4th or 5th time of stepping on it, I carried it to the front door and tossed it off the porch. I actually felt the earth tilt a tiny bit as the universe's power was altered, but I dismissed it as my own stumbling feet. I should have known better because not 2 minutes later there was a gasp, some panicked breathing and then an agonized wail as Jack realized his precious was gone. At this time I still hadn't realized my mistake, and I asked him what was wrong. He was so upset that he just couldn't get words out at first, but in between sobs and hiccups I was able to understand one question: "where my power rock at?" Oh no. It's a power rock? I thought it was just a regular rock. You can see how easy it is to confuse the two when the power is disguised as an every day, run of the mill rock. It could've happened to anyone, right? Apparently not, judging by the look Jack gave me when I explained what had happened. He was equal parts baffled, annoyed, scared and disgusted with me. So, shamefacedly I put my shoes on and combed the general direction in which I had thrown the rock of power. ( Note: if you ever throw away a random object that has been in the house for an unknown reason- watch to see where it lands. Just in case. It could be a power object.) After holding up 4 potential candidates for Jack's frantic inspection, the correct rock was finally found and returned to it's bearer. All was forgiven (I received a grateful and relieved "Hank you, Mommy." and a hug) and the world was safe again for everyone. You're welcome.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Rules of Engagement.
As parents of growing and active boys we are constantly having to reevaluate the household rules to make it a safe and wholesome environment for everyone. Most of the time the rules are for the boys, but occasionally we add a rule that applies to the adults. The last couple of weeks must have been milestones in the children's development because we've had to add quite a few. Here are some of the newest rules in our house, you get to decide who they were created for.
1. Do not drink your own bath water.
2. Do not put plastic fish into the fish tank with the real fish. It freaks Stewart out when he suddenly has a killer whale as a tank mate.
3. Do not pick your nose.
4. Do not pick your brother's nose.
5. Do NOT drink your bath water.
6. Do not give Mitch anymore apples.
7. Flush the toilet only after you go potty, not before.
8. Do not eat out of the trash can.
9. Do not put Mitch down for a nap without closing the bathroom door first. And if you forget to close the door, you are in charge of unclogging the toilet.
10. DO NOT DRINK YOUR OWN BATH WATER!
11. Do not leave the apples down low enough that Mitch can reach them.
12. Do not sit on your brother's head.
13. Do not touch the Christmas tree. Good will towards men does not extend to little boys who use ornaments as bouncy balls.
14. Do not lick me. Ever.
15. If you see bits of chewed up apple lying around the house, pick them up and find the uneaten portion before it rots and stinks.
16. Most importantly, under penalty of death- do NOT drink your bath water.
I'm not sure why the bath water is suddenly so irresistible, it's not like they are dehydrated. Maybe it's the new soap that has made it into the flavor of the week, but we can't keep the boys heads from dipping down to take that surreptitious slurp every now and again. We all know that Jordan's got a quick gag reflex, but this one gets me too. Totally disgusting.
1. Do not drink your own bath water.
2. Do not put plastic fish into the fish tank with the real fish. It freaks Stewart out when he suddenly has a killer whale as a tank mate.
3. Do not pick your nose.
4. Do not pick your brother's nose.
5. Do NOT drink your bath water.
6. Do not give Mitch anymore apples.
7. Flush the toilet only after you go potty, not before.
8. Do not eat out of the trash can.
9. Do not put Mitch down for a nap without closing the bathroom door first. And if you forget to close the door, you are in charge of unclogging the toilet.
10. DO NOT DRINK YOUR OWN BATH WATER!
11. Do not leave the apples down low enough that Mitch can reach them.
12. Do not sit on your brother's head.
13. Do not touch the Christmas tree. Good will towards men does not extend to little boys who use ornaments as bouncy balls.
14. Do not lick me. Ever.
15. If you see bits of chewed up apple lying around the house, pick them up and find the uneaten portion before it rots and stinks.
16. Most importantly, under penalty of death- do NOT drink your bath water.
I'm not sure why the bath water is suddenly so irresistible, it's not like they are dehydrated. Maybe it's the new soap that has made it into the flavor of the week, but we can't keep the boys heads from dipping down to take that surreptitious slurp every now and again. We all know that Jordan's got a quick gag reflex, but this one gets me too. Totally disgusting.
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