Disturbingly Sweet

McKay to Parker: "A girl at McDonald's called me a baby."

Parker: "I will kill her."

McKay in a sugary, sweet voice: "Thank you, Parker."

I'm not sure how I should feel about this.

A New Pair of Jeans

It's been awhile since I've posted, and this is why--there is not much to say when you spend your days holding fevery, crying children while watching fifteen hours of Wonder Pets straight. After so many hours of watching a turtle, hamster, and duck save various baby animals across the globe, I came up with a viewing strategy--simply hold crying youngster in lap with one arm and hold a book in the other hand. This works fairly well, however, I don't advise reading a book about people in a nursing home dying. You might look down at your fevery baby who's struggling to breathe, decide he's dying, and call your husband to come home from work immediately and give him a blessing. Your husband may tell you to please stop reading your book and go outside and get some fresh air, because the Wonder Pets theme song has warped your brain.

He may be right because the next day, said dying baby, is back to his old self, jumping off Parker's bunk bed and bloodying his nose. After cleaning up one Deacon disaster after another, I had pretty much had it with that kid. So when he got into the pantry and dumped a container of trail mix all over my freshly vacuumed carpet, I decided I needed to do something about that boy.

I sold him to Chris.

"Alright," Chris said, when I told him I was selling Deacon to him, "but I work all day, so I'm going to have to hire you to take care of him."

"I'm very expensive, and I don't work overtime."

"I'll give you everything I have."

"Deal."

And that is why I left Chris with HIS baby and bought myself a new pair of jeans. And also why he had to put HIS child in the car seat. And put HIS child to bed. And change HIS child's diaper. I'm loving this whole selling children thing.

Chewie

Today I had a goal--transfer Chewie from stinky-smelling half-bear dog to a presentable Airedale. And I had a plan--take Chewie to U Do Doggie Bath and clip and wash him myself during Chris's lunch break. The children could happily play with Chris. Brilliant. Usually we have Chewie professionally groomed, but the lure of $16 compared to $60 called to me. I knew I could do it.

Reality--$60 is not that much to pay for sanity.

Halfway through giving Chewie the worst haircut known to dogkind, Chris showed up, dropping off the kids. He had to get back to work, and I had seriously underestimated the amount of time it would take to groom a dog. So I clippered, scissored, and bathed that stinky dog with McKay and Deacon in tow. Now Deacon was stinky himself, but as I had forgotten diaper and wipes, he had to remain in his stink. So he took it upon himself to smell a little better. He kept getting in the dog bath and trying to rinse himself. I kept pulling him out. Finally I gave up. Pretty soon Chewie and Deacon were bathing together in the doggie tub. Deacon washing Chewie and playing in his dog hair.

Sometimes when the situation is just too disgusting, I have to turn off my gag reflex, and just go with it. Which is what I did. At least one of them was getting clean.

Fast-forward a hellacious two hours later, and Chewie was done. This is how Chewie looks when he's been professionally groomed. (I know it's an old picture. I had to search to find one.)

This is how Chewie looks after I groomed him.

Go ahead and laugh. I know I did.

Lessons Learned

This past week I've learned some valuable lessons from my children.

From Deacon--cereal can be dangerous.

I heard a loud thud, followed by a wail. I ran downstairs to find Deacon sprawled on the ground, a victim of his high chair. Apparently he had tried to climb into his high chair to get his soggy, hour-old, Captain Crunch only to tumble off. The details are a little sketchy, as I received them secondhand from Parker, but somehow the high chair and Deacon became enemies. As I picked up my screaming son, I tried to ascertain bodily damage. "What hurts?" I asked, feeling for broken bones.

"The cereal hurts me," he responded tearfully.

From McKay--not everyone takes off their pants one leg at a time.

On Sunday afternoon, I suddenly became aware of an eerie quiet, a sound more menacing than piercing screams. I found McKay sitting on Parker's bed, a pair of scissors in hand, happily cutting her pants off her body.

Also from McKay--you may not always a tissue handy when you need one, but luckily there's always a piece of furniture lying about.

As fun as it is to discover your daughter using your couch as a giant Kleenex, it is actually more delightful to discover that her nose isn't runny, but bloody.

From Parker--contrary to popular belief, it is better to ask for permission instead of forgiveness.

Our family has a rule that on Sunday, we only watch "Sunday" movies such as VeggieTales, Living Scriptures, etc. So on Sunday afternoon, when I found Parker watching SpongeBob, I reminded him of the rule.

"It's fine, Mom," he told me, "Before I turned on SpongeBob, I said a prayer that it would be o.k."

To the Rescue

During a fundraising event, Chris's dad bought the opportunity to eat dinner/spend the evening with firefighters at the fire station. He was kind enough to bring Parker and Chris along.

From what I understand from Parker, this may have been the best moment of his life. He got to eat dinner with firefighters, climb to the top of a fire truck, go for a ride in a fire truck, and cut and bend the above piece of metal with the jaws of life.

"So," I asked, when he got back, "do you still want to be a firefighter when you grow up?"

He looked at me incredulously. "What else would I be?"

Cherishing It

This morning I went downstairs to find Chris eating a bagel and reading the Ensign.

Me: "Why are you up?"

Chris: "Low blood sugar. Why are you up?"

Me: "Full bladder."

Chris: "Where are the kids?"

Me: "Asleep."

Chris: "Weird."

Me: "You know this will be our life in twenty years."

Chris: "How boring."

Three seconds later Deacon is awake. As Chris goes to get him out of his crib, I'm thinking about how boring life really will be without small children, and how I should cherish these days. Chris appears holding a cuddly Deacon. "What do you want for breakfast?" I ask.

"Syrup."

How adorable, I think, totally cherishing the moment. I pour extra syrup on his waffle, and he digs in.

Twenty minutes later, I am plopping Deacon in the bathtub and scrubbing syrup out of every crevice within a fifty foot radius of Deacon.

"Cherish it," I mutter under my breath, through gritted teeth. "Cherish it."

Strange Times at the Davis House

Today is an amazingly weird day. It started off fairly normal, Parker running through the house in his underwear, looking for clean pants, oblivious to the fact that the neighbor girl was over. I have explained to him multiple times that it is not appropriate or socially acceptable to be seen by others in our undies, but this lesson hasn't quite sunk in. I thought last week's lesson on not using our front yard as a public urinal might have carried over, but I'm doubting that. So Parker was acting normal. Deacon was walking around the house, holding a plunger on top of his head, declaring, "Superhero. Superhero." So Deacon was acting normal. And McKay, bless her girly little heart, was happily coloring in her princess coloring book. So McKay was acting normal.

Then I shoved Parker out the door for school, and the bizarre behavior started. Deacon pulled on my shirt and declared, "Pee-pee. Potty." I really, really want nothing to do with potty-training (A.K.A.: Living Hell) for another year, so I was tempted to ignore him. However, I sucked it up, located the kiddie potty, and plopped him on it. Then I went upstairs to check on McKay's unnatural state.

Three minutes before Deacon declared his toileting desire, McKay had stated, "Mom, may I please clean up my room?"

"Uhhh....yes?"

"Oh, thank you! Thank you! You're the best mom ever!"

Scary. Turns out she just wanted to earn a quarter. She's saving for a Littlest Pet Shop. She seems to understand that if she gets enough quarters, they add up to "real" money. Parker on the other hand is yet to master this concept. "So, mom, what can I do to earn one hundred bucks? Like clean the whole house?"

Alright. McKay's behavior explained. I went back downstairs to check on Deacon. What to my wondering eyes should appear, but a potty of pee-pee and a naked little rear! What? And again, I say, what?!?

I decided to celebrate this wonderful morning. "Let's make brownies!"

Ahh, nothing like chocolate to restore normalcy.