A Little Bit About Sacrifice

Several nights ago the family was watching Peter Jackson's remake of King Kong. There was poor Ann Darrow, captured by the natives of Skull Island, strung up on a rickety bridge and awaiting her sure-to-be-horrific encounter with the beast.

Our 7yo, thoroughly engrossed in the film, asked what was happening. Our Fearless Leader said Miss Darrow was to be a sacrifice.

Our Young Man in Training, without skipping a beat, said, "No, she's a snackrifice."

He really does have a wickedly good sense of humor. I hope to hear more of it.

A Simple Game of Fetch

While Wonder Boy is often the perpetrator center of odd behavior around here, this little tidbit revolves around our Young Man In Training and Miss M. Young Man is 12yo and, God bless his heart, plays with all the younger kids so well. He truly is a sweet boy... but he is a bit twisted. How could I say this?

He has taught the baby to play "fetch." Late last week he demonstrated her new developmental skill. He'd take a toy, show it to her, toss it across the room and tell her to fetch. AND SHE DID! She'd crawl as fast as her little hands and legs would go, grab the toy, sit down and show it to him, then crawl back with it. They did this over and over. I just about died.

My baby plays fetch and tag. She's a good little dog? :p

What Have I Done?

Is it any coincidence that WB's middle name is shared by one of the most notorious hurricanes to ever make landfall in Florida?

Is it possible to channel hurricane energy? I believe so.

Do You Read Food Labels?

On a forum I frequent this poll was posted today:

Do you read food labels before making purchases?

Yes - I spend a lot of time scrutinizing labels.

Sometimes – It depends on what the food is.

Not often – Labels aren't important to me.

This poll is fundamentally flawed, as no mother can really answer it. It presumes that Mom is able to go shopping without her brood in tow. Labels are important to me; I'd love to be able to scrutinize them, but I haven't had the ability to read a food label in at least three years. Here's a typical exchange while trying to decide on, oh, peanut butter:

Me: Peanut butter, peanut butter... where's the doggone peanut butter?

Kid1: Mom, can I have the Super Crunchy Awesome Pile'o'sugar Bombs? Please? They're on sale!!!

Me: Not now, I'm looking for peanut butter, do you see the peanut butter? (As I say it, I am taking the bread, now squished, from Kid3's hand.)

Kid2: wheeeeeeeeeeee! (Don't ask... it involves spinning and sliding in the aisle)

We enter the third aisle, still looking for peanut butter...

Me: Grab the plates. You, grab the taco shells. Hey! Stop squishing the bread, you turkey.

Kid1: I'll get the turkey. (runs off)

Me: Wait! We don't need turkey! Your brother is the turkey! Grab a straightjacket if you see one!

Kid4: bbbbbbbblllllllllllpt (this involves lots of drool.... but it's cute and entertains the old people shopping)

Elderly Man: What a sweet little boy. (said while gazing at the baby dressed in nauseating cotton-candy pink ruffles)

Me: Thank you very much. We love her so. (arm whips out to stop the spinning child before I need dramamine)

Kid1: They're out of turkey. So, have you thought about the Sugar Bombs? Crusty Crunchy Chocos are good too.

Kid3: Mine! (grabbing for the eggs)

Me: Ok... that's everything... (grabs nutter butter cookies, sugar free koolaid, and a bag of tortilla chips on the way to the checkout)

Later, upon unloading the shopping bags in the kitchen....

Me: WHERE IS THE PEANUT BUTTER???

Now... did you notice any label reading?

So Very Tired

It's not like anything outlandish has happened in the past few days. I've retrieved a sopping wet baby from the dog's bowl only about 423 times (upside, not having to go out of my way to do weight lifting and squats). I've changed about 15 poopy diapers for the rugrats, culminating in a screaming bath for Wonder Boy (upside, he was yawning and ready for bed by the end of the bath). I watched the neighbor's children when they were locked out of the house after school (upside, um... still looking for the upside to having a psychotic 6yo around egging on an already Wonderful Wonder Boy).

Last night my beloved, Our Fearless Leader, came home from work at 7pm. God bless him, he cooked his own dinner and sent me upstairs and said, "You're excused from life for the rest of the night." Have I mentioned I love this man?

So I plopped down on the sofa after taking a refreshing shower. I was in jammies but just not quite ready to turn in for the night. Our Fearless Leader was watching a family favorite movie: Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. Thing One and Thing Two were playing Kadoo - Thing Two had to ask me "What does this say?" every other turn because he still lacks sufficient reading skills to vanquish Thing One. Wonder Boy and Miss M were tucked snugly in their tents and cribs (yes, WB really does sleep in a tent... but that's another story for another day). Have I mentioned yet how tired I've been?

I fell asleep, sitting upright, with all this commotion going on at 8pm. I don't think I actually woke all the way up to read Thing Two's game cards to him. My beloved admitted this morning that he kept glancing over in amazement as I drifted off, open-mouthed in my little sofa nest. I'm afraid to ask what was so amazing. I think it had something to do with that head whipping motion in combination with the ever prolonged blinking. I still have several years of sleep to catch up on, so checking out on the sofa seems so... inviting.

Oh, well. Tonight I owe Thing Two a game of Uno, which we'll play as Thing One is chained to the sink doing dinner dishes. I can hear my pillows calling to me, sirens that they are. But I shall resist and play. If only I could figure out how to throw a game of Uno without getting caught (the penalties would be steep, I have no doubt).

Nursing = Permission to Wreak Havoc

NEWSFLASH:
If you stop and nurse your baby for more than 30 seconds, you are giving permission to any other siblings baby may have that it is Open Season.

Good gravy. I sat down for just two minutes to nurse Miss M and get her ready for her afternoon nap. No biggie. We've done this every day now for, what, 10 months? Wonder Boy took note and proceeded to drain his juice...

... under the kitchen table, onto the floor, by shaking his cup violently.

Apparently he though his skin needed moisture, too. So he sat in the juice puddle and swished his tooshie and legs in it. Meanwhile, the older kids are yelling, "Mom!" As if I had nothing else going on. I must be doing a very bad job of teaching Household Management to these people because no one recognized that this was a prime application of their "Many Uses of the Kitchen Towels" lecture from this morning.

I Really Do Mean What I Say

I have said about 457,928 times since last August: Do not run on the porch when it's wet because you'll slip and hit your head.

Wonder Boy really needs to learn to listen.

It's raining - and in Arizona that calls for the family to stand on the porch and make silly comments like "look! it's raining" or "are we going to float away?" or "is the street really supposed to look that wet?" So there we were. And Wonder Boy was full of wonder. No sooner had I said we should head in and he took off like a shot...

It was like a scene out of a movie... in slow motion, but you know it's more like "bullet time." His feet flew out in front of him, he hit the ground with his bottom and slid forward, and his head made that awful *thud*ing sound. We actually picked him up and got him inside before the first wail... though I think he did create something of a vacuum when he sucked in all that air.

Poor kid. He looks fine... but I wonder if he had any sense knocked into him?