Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Through The Looking Glass... Or Something Like That.

This is why I love having girls - sometimes life takes on a Fairy Tale quality.

Just when you think you know exactly what the cheeky munchkins are up to, they surprise you with a little make-believe magic. You walk in ready to lay the smack down, and you find this:



And this is precisely the scene I happened upon yesterday.

Instead of a preschool reenactment of the Ultimate Fighting Championship, I find something completely unexpected and mind-boggling.
There was a Birthday celebration in progress. (And I was not invited... as is evidenced by the lack of essential party materials. I mean, where's the cheesecake? Where are the 'spirits'? Yeah. I rest my case.)

Just whose birthday was it, you might wonder? (And who could blame you, what with the conspicuous absence of a Birthday hat and all?)
Well, I'm disappointed to report that this is still a mystery.

(Although I suspect that Sammy (grey striped cat) is the lucky recipient of this show of goodwill. I say this because she looks as though she's passed out drunk in the Birthday cake. Now that's a good time.)

Some days I feel like Alice falling down the rabbit hole... everything seems a bit new and bizarre, and what you find when you arrive is surprising and fun. (Well, if I were INVITED, that is. Humph.) There are tea parties, stories, games, illogical questions, and topsy-turvy living in my life - much like Alice's trip through Wonderland.

Wonderland is generally amusing, but if that mean-ass Queen of Hearts shows up here, I will split the scene and leave her to referee my kids for a few days. She could stand to learn a trick or two from the Masters.
Bwaaahahhaaha!

You'll know she's arrived when you hear "OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!" echoing across the country.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Words To Live By...

I think most of us used to be normal once upon a time, and might have possibly had normal conversations. The memory is dim, but I think I once fit into that category....

Since I became a parent, though, the transcripts of my daily conversations (if you can call them that) read like a Mad Libs page. Honestly. I couldn't come up with more bizarre statements if I tried.

** The potty seat is not a hat!
** We do NOT eat kitty food.
** Mommy's lipstick is not candy!
** We don't put panties on our heads... they are for bums.
** NO! The kitty does NOT want to go on the Sit 'n' Spin!


And of course, there's my personal favorite.
"NO! Put that back right now! We do NOT steal money from the kids with Leukemia!"

Yes, I actually said that.

We were just finishing a leisurely dinner with family at a local Chinese buffet (some of you will know what I'm talking about - the Golden Dragon near Target) when 'the incident' occurred. I looked up and found my little one up on a chair, pilfering a quarter from the Leukemia Foundation Card in the lobby. (You know, the nifty ones where you insert a quarter into the little carved out slots.)

I said the first thing that came out of my mouth... and said it fairly loudly. The busboy was cracking up, my kid was looking shell-shocked, and I just wanted to disappear.

Of course, now the sheer absurdity of my statement amuses me.

Like, OK... steal from the kids with Down Syndrome, steal from the ones with Spina Bifida, who cares? But steal from the kids with Leukemia and you're going DOWN.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

Wait.. Which Way to Hair and Make-up?

Bows, bags, designer clothes, matching ensembles, pristine hair... all were present and accounted for yesterday.

Oh no, not on me.
No, I didn't skip off to Milan for a fashion show either.

You see, yesterday was the first day of preschool for my kids.

The group hanging out by the front doors looked relatively normal from far away... but as we got closer I started noticing things. High-end boutique outfits matched with pricey, dainty shoes, custom hair accessories, and monogrammed everything. And that was just the children.

My kids arrived dressed in stuff from the Gymboree outlet, and Target.

Go me!

I almost felt as though I should apologize to my children for my horrendous misjudgment of the situation. You see, *I* was under the impression that kids played rough, painted, used playdoh and markers, and messed around with glue in preschool.

Today my suspicions were confirmed when upon picking up my oldest daughter, I noticed a large amount of dried glue on her forearm.

So apparently I did not completely misjudge the activities one might expect to occur at a preschool. For a second there I thought I had accidentally enrolled my girls in finishing school, or the Barbizon Modeling school. (I'm still suspicious of the latter, and will be keeping an eye opened for any Jon-Benet Ramsey look-alikes on campus.)

Given that my personal vision of preschool seems to fall into line with the actual curriculum, I am left with the following conclusions from which to choose:

a) These people must have some super-duper secret stain remover in their arsenal, making it feasible to send their kids off to paint/play in the sandbox/make 'art' in designer duds.

b) They are all excellent seamstresses, and can whip up a handmade designer replica in 5 minutes when there's a bit of 'slippage' with the old tempera paint.

c) They can afford to replace designer outfits at a staggering frequency.

d) They have gone clinically insane.

I won't tell you which option I suspect, but I will say this: it rhymes with 'bee'.

If I get my kids' shoe laces or socks monogrammed, somebody call for help. It means they've gotten to me... and I don't want to be taken to their leader.

Friday, September 5, 2008

Irreverence

The Ten Commandments are pretty nifty, right? I mean, where else is someone going to give you an exact list of Dos and Don'ts by which to live your life?

Oh yeah. Your parents, that's where.

We're given these hedonistic little buggers we refer to as children, and a nifty list of things to program OUT of them. (Oh yes. It is my belief (based on personal experience) that the OPPOSITE of almost all of the Ten Commandments is present from birth.)

You shall have no other gods before me
Unless by 'God' this means fruit snacks or M&Ms (both of which they'll fight to the death for), then we're actually probably good here.

You shall not make for yourself an idol
Barney. Spongebob. The Wiggles. Need I go on? Any parent who has been subjected to a Spongebob marathon, or The Backyardigans Live! will tell you that these pint-sized peeps definitely have idols.

You shall not make wrongful use of the name of your God
Is CAUSING wrongful use of the name of God the same thing? Because if so, guilty as charged! "Oh GOD!" or "Jesus Christ!" (followed by a groan) is a common refrain in this household.

Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy
There is NOTHING holy about getting up at 6am on the Sabbath (or any other day for that matter).

Honor your father and mother
Excuse me while I pick myself up on the floor and attempt to stop laughing. I don't think the words kick, terrorize, and otherwise drive insane were featured in God's definition of 'honor'.

You shall not murder
Uh oh. I knew it was a bad idea to let the little one near those ladybugs. *gulp*

You shall not commit adultery
Dear God, I hope this one doesn't come up anytime soon, or else I'm really screwed.

You shall not steal

Riiiight. See 'She's a Rogue' for more information on this lovely commandment, and how certain folks snub it.

You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor
Puh-lease. "It was SISSY!" (when she's napping) "Dad said YES!" (when he's in the shower)... you get where I'm going with this.

You shall not covet your neighbor's house
If playhouses count, we've got that covered.

You shall not covet your neighbor's wife
I don't know many 2-4 year-olds that have wives (at least not of the living/breathing variety), but if they did I assure you, it'd be an issue.

Given that most of these are offended against at least once a day by one (or more) of my children, it's safe to say that this is going to be a looong road.

Christ. (Gah, now I've done it - and I can't even blame the kids) I hope their 'issues' don't count against my eternal rewards. If they do, when you add in my own contributions, I'm screwed.

I guess I'll have to live in the afterlife's ghetto... down where the roads degrade into brass.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Frijoles Estúpidos

Mexican Jumping Beans.
I think they must be a rite of passage of sorts. I mean, who among us has not owned and marveled at the little plastic box of inexplicably hopping bean fragments?

I had them as a child. I lost them as a child.

Logic dictates then that I should have seen what was coming when my brother handed Anna her very first tiny plastic box of Mexican Jumping Beans. Of course, she was immediately madly in love with the little mysterious critters, and insisted on taking them everywhere with her.

Therein lies our problem.

Apparently Mexican Jumping Beans are great cuddly bedtime companions too, did you know? Yeah. Me either. But apparently somewhere in the mind of a four year-old they are the ultimate in bedtime companions.

(I just hope I can convince her of this when she's a teenager. Who needs boys!?)

And... who needs sleep?
Apparently not me. Said four year-old thought nothing of waking me at 4am screaming "MINE BEANS! MINE JUMPING BEANS ARE LOST, MOMMY!"

*Groan*

Luckily the little buggers are rather loud and obnoxious for such little beasts. *Click Click Click Click*

Thankfully they were only under her pillow. With my two year-old's habit of ingesting virtually anything in her path, it's a wonder she's not *Clicking* as we speak.