Clean House

"Ewww, what is that stinky smell?"  McKay asks this morning as she eats her breakfast.

"It's the pile of unwashed dishes in the sink."

I did not wash a single dish yesterday.  Breakfast, lunch, dinner, assorted snacks, and juice cups were spilling out over the sink and onto the counter.  Some spoons were on the floor, lying on top of a giant mystery stain.  It was not my finest moment as a housekeeper.

Now a normal person might stop and clean their kitchen when their six year old daughter complains the smell is making her lose her appetite.  But once again, I proved my lack of normalcy, by simply lighting a scented candle and heading upstairs.

Thirty minutes later I came downstairs to find Deacon perched next to the candle.  A graham cracker, broken in half was lying next to him on the counter.  A giant marshmallow was attached to a toothpick, and Deacon was holding onto this toothpick, his marshmallow resting over the flame.

"What are you doing, Deacon?"  I ask.

He looks up.  "Making s'mores.  Can I have some chocolate?"

A Mother's Example

I'm driving my kids when McKay announces, "When I grow up I don't want to work."

I'm thinking pretty well of myself at this point.  I've decided that McKay probably loves having her own stay-at-home mommy so much, she wants to give her own children that same experience.  I'm giving myself a mental awesome mom award, when the next words out of her mouth put me in my place.

"I just want to steal my husband's money like mom steals dad's money."

Deacon has a good solution for McKay.  "You can marry me, McKay, and steal my money."

"No, Deacon.  You can't marry family.  I'm going to find a husband who I love and adore and think is adorable just like mom loves dad."

Ah, how sweet.

"And then I will destroy him."

Oh.

"Like mom does dad."

Reasons Why I Like Taking Deacon to Baseball Games

1.  He cheers on the home team.

Deacon (yelling):  "Dude, hit the ball hard!"

Instantly the batter hits the ball for a base hit.

Deacon:  "I told him."

2.  He puts obnoxious fans in their place.

Turning and facing the obnoxious teenage boys sitting behind us, Deacon declares, "Can you just be quiet?"

3.  He sees dead people.

Deacon:  "Look!  Babe Ruth's up to bat!"

Me:  "Really?"

Deacon:  "But how did he get to Meridian, Idaho?"

Them Bones...Again

"Deacon, you are not allowed to leave your room until it's clean," I announce this afternoon.

"Mom, Jesus made my bones," he answered.

I have an idea where this conversation is headed.

"And he made the bones in my legs.  And my legs can walk right out of this room."

The Blame Game

"Mom, Deacon's poking sticks into dad's car!"

"Deacon, why are you poking sticks into the car?"

"It's not my fault, mom," Deacon tells me.

"Do you see these arms?" he asks, holding his arms up. "Jesus gave me these arms.  And the bones inside of them make me do things I shouldn't do."

Bathroom Chef

"I made a new recipe!  Come see!"  A naked Deacon grabbed my hand and dragged me into the bathroom where he was supposed to be bathing.  Apparently he was cooking.

"Look!"  he exclaimed, pointing to the lid of a shaving cream cap that was filled with a bubbly substance.  

"What's in it?"  I ask.

"Shaving cream, water, and this," he declares, thrusting an almost empty bottle of bathroom cleaner under my nose.  "I think it's calcium."

"Did you drink this recipe?"

"No, it's a looking at kind of recipe."

Whew.  "I'm going to get some extra towels to wipe this up."

When I returned from the linen closet with towels, there was Deacon, using my hairbrush as a paintbrush, spreading the "recipe" all over the bathroom.  I was gone no more than thirty seconds.

"Deacon, what am I going to do with you?"

"Ha, ha.  You're funny, mom."

Unbroken

Yesterday was a momentous day at our house.  Deacon's cast came off.

It wasn't supposed to be off so soon.  But apparently casts also aren't supposed to be worn until they disintegrate, have food dropped down them, or be occasionally dunked in the toilet.

"Am I being a neurotic mother?"  I asked the doctor, as I showed him the sores all over Deacon's foot.

"Oh, no," he said, "that thing had to come off.  We don't keep casts on once they've been worn to pieces."

"This is good to know," I told him, "because I expect I'll see a lot of you over the next few years."

His parting words were, "Please keep Deacon off trampolines and anything else that could potentially cause him to injure his leg for the next two weeks."

I thought that was a particularly tough challenge the doctor issued.  But so help me, I would do my best to keep him from injuring himself.  And I did.  For almost 24 hours.

On Thursday a large box containing a new golf bag for my hubby showed up on our doorstep.  Consequently, I   spent Thursday evening getting a cramp in my hand cutting out cardboard "windows" in Deacon's "train."  Large cardboard boxes that my children love to play in are the types of objects that give my husband ulcers.  He had tossed that box upstairs, so he wouldn't "have to look at it."

This afternoon, I heard a loud rumbling noise that I may, perhaps, compare to the sound of a train.  I came running to see Deacon's train, with Deacon in it, roaring down the stairs at top speed.  Guessing that sliding down the stairs in a cardboard box was probably on the banned list of activities for the week, I pulled my crying train-wreck victim out of the box.  I began feeling his leg for breaks.

"Not my leg, my hand," Deacon sobbed, holding out his hand.

Great, I think, now a broken hand.  Can I please go 24 hours without a cast on some part of this kid's body?

"I hurt my pinkie," he said, holding up a hand with an extended pinkie finger.

And for some reason this made me want to giggle.  Really giggle.  But I held it together, because it's generally not considered good parenting to laugh at your children when they're in pain.

Unless you're my sister, Riki.  She's a great mom.  She just can't help that giggle.