I think that was the nicest thing anyone said to me all day.

After an especially trying trip to the grocery store as a family on a Sunday afternoon I was at my wit's end. With all of 'em. Which I get is totally unfair towards G, since he really did nothing wrong, annoying, or embarrassing in any way. He pushed the cart, put all the groceries through the check out, loaded them all in the truck, unloaded them when we got home (....now I am realizing how G should be the one who was all fed up, since he had to deal with our children's crazy I've-never-been-out-in-public-before-therefore-I-can't-possibly-know-how-to-act circus AND a wife that apparently checked out before we actually checked out, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I'm arguing with Monkey for the 15th time that since he couldn't act nicely or say anything nice he wasn't going to go play a video game until he could act better. This is after the 7 times in the store I told him if he wasn't being nice or talking nice then wouldn't get to play when he got home. I had finally convinced Monkey that what would redeem him would be 10 minutes of just not being mean. You don't have to be nice, just stop being mean. Just don't talk. I'll consider that the same as being nice. Just stop talking. Stop talking. Stop. Talking. Monkey was trying, and I mean really struggling with this concept. You can just tell that he is actively trying to keep himself from ranting at me. It's so hard, I know. Trust me. I get it. So when he opens his mouth to complain I interrupt and say "If it's not nice, don't say it. Just don't....no....it better be nice or nothing at all!" He stops short of whatever retort he had about to say. I can see the wheels turning "Just say something nice, Monkey" I say. "Mom" he says slowly, pondering his next words carefully "you are....not....a...boy. You are....a girl.."

Close enough.

Mini-Me

Motormouth: look mom, those people are on TV and famous. I wish we were famous.

Me: I don't.

Motormouth: Really??? Why not?

Me: I wouldn't want everyone to know me and where I live, I guess.

Motormouth: But you could make.....One Thousand Dolllars! You don't want a thousand dollars??

Me: I'll pass, Dr. Evil.

What just happened? No really. Explain it to me.

I just watched my husband lay on the floor in the hall outside my son's bedroom door and pass his pajamas back and forth under the door while my son screamed "No pajamas!" followed by "Gimme back my jamas!!" for about 40 minutes. The fact that we really didn't care if he wore pajamas or slept in his jeans was lost on him. He continued to yell that he didn't want to wear pajamas nonstop until he abruptly announced mid-yell that he needed to go to the bathroom. I open his bedroom door to let him out and found him standing at the door, wearing the pajamas (that he is NOT wearing, Mommy!!) and holding all his dirty clothes. He marches to the bathroom, throws his clothes in the hamper, looks at me with red-rimmed puffy eyes and asks for help brushing his teeth.

We're not white trash- we're worldly.

I look up as Motormouth is coming back inside the house from playing in the backyard, and realize that he is wearing a tee-shirt and boxer briefs. When questioned, Motormouth explains his choice to strip down was heat induced. I don't care how hot it is, you don't take your pants off and go out in public. You are a boy, take off your shirt for crying out loud.
So now I'm ticked because I didn't notice that he went outside looking like that. I started to panic a little that this isn't some little boy reasoning, and that there is some deep-seeded, genetic trait that caused this white trash behavior. I would like to pretend that it couldn't possibly be from my genes...I'm mean, doesn't everyone try to pin the blame on their spouse when they see undesirable traits in their kids? Or is it just me? It's probably just me. I'm petty and small. Unfortunately for me, my theory of being haplessly married into a clan of barbarians that would enthusiastically embrace underwear as outerwear was quickly and thoroughly shot down when SSG G came home and was absolutely appalled at the idea of his son outside in his skivvies. His lecture included not only the fact that the practice was not tolerated in THIS house, but not tolerated by law either. Ouch. So the blame comes back around to me.
If the cops are called, I'm blaming his exposure to European culture early in life.

You can't make this stuff up...I guess you could, but really, why on earth would you?

It's dinnertime, and the boys have sat down to eat. Motormouth starts yelling at Monkey to stop doing something and Monkey starts tattling in that universal, sing-song tattle voice that every parent loves.

Me, talking over the yelling: Both of you stop it and eat!!

Motormouth: But Monkey was going to put up the middle finger! He can't do that!!

Me: He was not. Monkey doesn't even know what the middle finger is.

Motormouth: You could show him.

Me: NOBODY'S showing him.

Motormouth: I can't show him, I don't know what the middle finger MEANS!!

He ran into the bathroom to fart. I guess that's progress.

Two months ago I had the following conversation with my 10 year old son:
Me: Wash your hands.
Motormouth: okay...(out in 5 seconds)
Me: That was not long enough, did you use soap?
Motormouth: um, no. you didn't say soap.
Me: Go back and do it again. And dude, every time I say "wash your hands" it means "wash your hands with soap" Every time. The use of soap is implied. Every time.
Motormouth: (eyes wide with shock) OOOOH. okay.

Last month I had the following conversation with my 10 year old son:
Me: Wash your hands.
Motormouth: okay...(out in 5 seconds)
Me: That was not long enough, did you use soap?
Motormouth: um, no. you didn't say soap.
Me: Go back and do it again. And dude, every time I say "wash your hands" it means "wash your hands with soap" Every time. The use of soap is implied. Every time.
Motormouth: (eyes wide with shock) OOOOH. okay.

Yesterday I had the following conversation with my 10 year old son:
Me: Wash your hands.
Motormouth: okay...(out in 5 seconds)
Me: That was not long enough, did you use soap?
Motormouth: um, no. you didn't say soap.
Me: Go back and do it again. And dude, every time I say "wash your hands" it means "wash your hands with soap" Every time. The use of soap is implied. Every time.
Motormouth: (eyes wide with shock) OOOOH. okay.

Yesterday I also had to make this boy rebrush his teeth and his father made him rewash his hair in the shower. Motormouth is upset because he can't convince us that 10 seconds of half hearted brushing gets your teeth clean, or that your hair can be dry in spots and still have been cleaned. Go figure. I can't figure out how these germy, dirty, happy-to-wallow-in-their-own-filth creatures ever end up getting a woman to agree to spend the rest of their lives under the same roof. At some point they must learn to cut their own toenails and bathe themselves and have fresh breath and keep their dirty socks off the kitchen table, right? Because dear God, if they can't manage to do those things, I hope they don't think that they can live with me forever.

I don't think I know any responsible adults.

There must be something in the air because there has been a lot of talk about sex lately. Maybe it is because it's Spring....I don't know. But, it has come to my attention that some responsible adult should be talking to Motormouth about s.e.x. After all, he is nine and they are going to start talking about it in school next year and it is freaking me out. So, in an effort to not have to freak out alone, I shared my thoughts with others. It went well.

Me: WE should be thinking about talking to Motormouth about sex. He's nine and I guess that is when THEY suggest you do that.

Sgt. G: By WE I assume you mean.....

Me: yeah. you.

Sgt. G: (groans) Can't we just show him a video or something?

Me: Don't they call that "corruption of a minor"? I think that sort of thing leads to jail time.

Sgt. G: I didn't mean that kind of video.....but now that you mention it......

Me: Yeah, that will give him a realistic idea of how things work.

Sgt. G: I'm still waiting for my busload of cheerleaders.

Me: keep waiting, it could happen.

Just leave the seat up. You win. I admit defeat and you win.

On the days I work in the morning, I usually try to squeeze in a nap while the kids are in school. The dog usually wakes me up by barking like crazy 2 feet from my face because Motormouth is coming through the door....so I am already a ray of sunshine while trying to deal with Motormouth's incessant chattering and questions. Motormouth came in clutching some Red Vines and asked to trade for some candy that he can actually eat (let me say right here how amazing I think this kid is that he will hold candy that he isn't supposed to eat all the way home on the bus while all the other kids are eating theirs because he knows he isn't supposed to eat it- how many 9 year olds would do that? He gets so much credit for that, but apparently, that credit does not transfer) He makes a trade, I eat the Red Vines and tell him to wash his hands before he eats his candy. He goes to the bathroom and washes his hands and wanders off. I then go in to use the bathroom after him.....and somehow manage to channel my mother. In my defense for the following exchange...this would be the third time in as many days that his father and I have talked to him about this.

Me: (from the toilet) ARGH!!! MOTORMOUTH!! DID YOU GO POTTY WITH THE SEAT DOWN?????

Motormouth: Whoops

Me: Do you realize that when you do that you get pee all over the seat and so then Mommy sits in it???

Motormouth:.....................heeheeSORRY!!

Me: (practically whispering) I'll give you a head start.

Motormouth: What?

Me: Go. Now. Run. Now. Away.

Boys are so competitive

The flu has been going around our house, and everyone got the 24 hour strain except Sgt. G. His lasted longer, and he got to take his on a road trip to Kentucky and back this weekend. He called when he got back into Michigan to let me know he was just a few hours away. Motormouth hears me asking G how he is feeling and being generally sympathetic. He announces loudly from the other side of the room:
"You tell Daddy I was WAY more sick than he is...I threw up at Grandma's and the throw up came out my NOSE!!"