Boys only. Unless there is laundry involved.

Monkey runs into the bathroom while I am trying to clean it up and announces I need to leave. I do. When he is done using the bathroom he opens the door and tries to shoo me away from the door. "This is the boy's bathroom mom."  "Okay" I say, pointing to the dirty clothes on the floor. "You pick those up." Monkey looks at the clothes and back at me "Oh. You help me mom?"

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.

Let's just file that away with all the other questions we don't ask in public, okay?

I'm sitting on the couch watching a cartoon with Motormouth. Out of the blue he chuckles and asks "Do you have Autism or something?" Startled, I look at him and say "are you talking to me?" Equally startled, he looks at me and says "no, I was talking to Popeye." "Why would you ask that?" I ask. "Because Popeye talks to himself" he replies.

Huh.

I think the fact that the two of us were startled by the idea that the person sitting next to us would actually talk to us is more of a indication of Autism than talking to yourself, but what do I know?

Can you hear me now?

SSG G: I'm going to head to bed, I have to be up early tomorrow.

Me: Okay, but the sheets are in the dryer.

*20 minutes later*

SSG G: (calling from the bedroom) Hey! The bed's not made!

The Extortionist

I'll admit it. I borrow money from my oldest kid. I can at least say that I always ask first and eventually remember to pay him back. I don't sneak the cash out of his wallet and then pretend I don't know what happened. This is because I am an honest person and am trying to set a good example by presenting myself as a great role model of good values and morals, and nothing to do with the fact that the kid counts his money more than once a day and could tell you what his nickel to quarter ratio is at any given time. I ask to borrow a couple bucks to take his little brother to the video store and his response is this, "sure Mom, you can have five dollars, but when you pay me back you'll need to give me twenty dollars." I stare him down. "okay, you can pay me $10". My eyes get bigger. "how about $11?...I'm running out of numbers here, Mom."

Apparently my credit score at the Motormouth Bank and Trust is really, really, REALLY low.

It's the little things.

Me: Hey G, today is military spouse day.

G: mmm'kay. I made you pancakes this morning.

Me: I get a sneaking suspicion that you didn't know that at the time.

G: (giving 'jazz hands') Happpy Military Spouses Day!!!

Me: That's better.

My Morning

Conversations with Motormouth

Motormouth: Mom, I'm tired of this old PSP. I need a new one!
Me: (taking a deep breath) That is an incredibly spoiled, selfish sounding thing to say. Your's works fine, but if you have $130 feel free to buy another one. In the mean time, if it would help, I can take your's so you don't have to suffer playing an "old" one.

......

Motormouth: I have questions. What was that guy's name again? Where was he shot? Why?
Me: (another deep breath) Osama Bin Laden.
Motormouth: He was eeeeevil. In your face Bin Laden.
Me: NO! Don't be like that. Yes. He was very evil, but we should never be happy that someone is dead. You don't have to be sad, but don't be happy either.
Motormouth: So, where was he shot and why?
Me: Pakistan. In the Middle East. He was killed because he planned an organized the death of thousands on 9/11. And you just can't do that. America protects it's people whenever possible.
Motormouth: No, I meant WHERE was he shot?
Me: yeah, I know. I'm not getting into that with you because it doesn't matter. Dead is dead. You can't take it back.
...............
Motormouth: Oh, I forgot to tell you. The carpet in the basement is all wet. I noticed a couple of days ago but didn't tell you because I needed to play with my Legos.
Me: (taking a deep breath and praying I can hold it until I pass out) THAT'S NOT SOMETHING YOU DON'T TELL SOMEONE.
..........................................
Me: Where is your jacket, the bus will be here.
Motormouth: I dunno.
Me: it's not on the coat hook. Yesterday you came home and left your shoes and jacket on the floor in the middle of the kitchen. I told you to come pick them up and put them where they belong. Where do you think that is?
Motormouth: I really don't know!!
Me (still holding my breath, because it's working so well for me right now) Go. Check. Your. Room.
Motormouth: It's not in here.
Me: your bus is here.....Wait! Don't go out yet! (turning to grab a long sleeve sports jersey off the clean laundry stack. *BANG* front door slams shut and he runs outside and jumps on the bus. It's 43 degrees.)


I would just like to say that his jacket was spread out right in front of his door in his room. He must have been standing on it when he went in to look. The basement carpet is indeed wet and I don't know where it's coming from. Oh, and G just left for a couple days.