Comedic Timing

So the other day, N and I were sitting around contemplating the cuteness of our children. This wasn't so much a narcissistic thing as it was an amazement and wonder thing, since we have yet to figure out how the two of us produced the two of them, gorgeous as they are.

I'm sure all parents feel their children are beautiful, but trust me when I say mine really, really are.

{pause for your moment of eye-rolling}

{I know you're eye-rolling, don't deny it}

ANYway, we weren't discussing their looks on this particular afternoon, since for the most part we have become immune to the big blue eyes and sweet little smiles and perfectly puppy-dog-cute looks they use to try to play us. Mainly, we were talking about how we love the personalities and behaviors they've been showing lately. We were sitting around watching them play a computer game, and our conversation went kind of like this:

N: I love how JT has such enthusiasm for *everything*. It doesn't matter if we are playing a game or going to the park or just getting a snack, he loves it all. He's such a happy kid.

Me: Yeah, it's kind of contagious, you know? It spreads to everything, like, "Woohoo, let's take the garbage out!"

N: That's what I mean. It's like his goal in life is to get you to see the most mundane events as a great time. I love it.

Me: And Kays has gotten so freaking smart lately. The most unexpected things randomly pop out of her mouth, leaving you stunned that a 5 year old would know that.

N: Yeah, like yesterday when she named all the planets like it was nothing. I had no idea she could do that.

Me: I know! Dude, *I* couldn't even name all 9 planets.

{pause}

Me: I probably shouldn't have admitted that.

N: {looks at me askance} Seriously?

Me: Whatever. Move along, there's no more ignorance to see here.

N: Ohhhh-kay. Well, I'm just saying I wouldn't be surprised if tomorrow she piped up with, "Hi! I'm 5. And Pythagorean's theorem is A-squared plus B-squared equals C-squared."

Me: {snort}

N: Hey, Kays! Can you say, "Pih-thag-uh-ree-uhn?"

And Kays turns around, waits a beat, then replies in perfect deadpan, "Hi! I'm 5."

Then she turns right back around to her game, 100% satisfied with her smartassedness.

She's already keeping us on our toes. And here I thought we'd have at least a few more years of parental laziness. Dammit.

My Kingdom for a Title

So, how's life out there in Reader Land? Yes, yes I am still alive and kicking. You know the story - so much to do, so little time. Sadly, it's the blog that gets neglected. However, since my husband specifically took the time to bitch about the fact that I haven't blogged in two and a half months, I decided I loved him enough to put some of my word vomit on paper, as it were.

Honey, this one's for you.

Life is chugging along at the Casa de Madness. Summer has hit and our little corner of the world now resembles a bug-filled steam room. Humidity: love it or kill yourself. Growing up in Southern California did not prepare me on how to properly swim my way through the muggy air in this state. We've been here awhile but apparently the last two summers were "mild". People kept saying this, but honestly, I just dismissed it and assumed I was acclimating nicely. I told everyone back home how the "humidity isn't that bad" and that I "didn't understand why it's so hard for people to deal" with the weather here.

Now I understand. Now I am on my knees, begging forgiveness from He Who Punishes Those Who Make Stupid Statements And Think They're Slightly Superior When In Reality They Do Not Know That Of Which They Speak.

Mercy, I beg of you!

The biggest joy of summer is that our community pool opens and we can once again submerse ourselves in the wondrous Big Blue. Kays and JT had their first swim lesson yesterday, courtesy of one Miss Ashley. Ashley, despite her lack of years, did well putting up with my darling daughter's antics (just watching her I was tempted to shove her head under the water for awhile). Kays is in that stage where she thinks she is being funny but in reality she is being ... well ... let's just say she's not. At all. She also has a very real fear of putting her head under water, which is somewhat counter-conducive to swimming. I'm hopeful that with lessons she'll be able to jump off the diving board by the end of summer, although I'm not--haha--holding my breath.

JT on the other hand, appears to be my child right down to his fish-in-water bones. He is a natural swimmer even at the tender age of 2. Doesn't mind going under and has *no fear* when it comes to the pool. Tip for parents of daredevil children: Do not take your attention off your child for even two seconds while at the pool, or you could possibly find yourself grabbing for said child after he has jumped off the side and gone completely under.

Not that I would know anything about that.

{ahem} Have I mentioned the recent addition to the Madness family? No? Well then, let me proudly introduce Clover Creamsicle Marmalade Goldie Madness:

Clover was abandoned by some assface who walked into my store with her and let her loose. We found her just running around, scared out of her little guinea pig mind. Because she was free, I was easily talked into hounded mercilessly by my co-workers until I agreed to take her home. Our dog Tucker really loves her (or wants to eat her, I'm not sure which), but she's not too keen on him. She is warming up to us, though, and comes up to the door of her cage to greet me each day. Really she just wants a carrot, but it's nice to pretend I'm loved.

Tip for anyone adopting a guinea pig: They pee. And poop. They feel no compunction about doing such activities upon your person. Cuddling time should always include at least one spare towel.

Moving right along ...

We've had a lot of 'firsts' over the last couple of months. Oh, those proud moments when your child shines so brightly that you are almost overwhelmed by your parental joy. Those moments you just rush to get recorded in Junior's baby book; those times you snap a million photos so you'll be able to look at them all and reminisce for years to come.

Those moments like when your daughter cuts her own hair ...



Those moments like when your daughter swallows a quarter and chokes on it, necessitating an ambulance trip to the hospital and a surgical procedure to remove it ...


Those moments like when your son decides he loves his new Cars underwear *so much* that he throws a screaming hysterical fit when he pees in them and Mommy dares to remove them from his stinky behind.


Those moments like when your older (stronger, bigger) child gets a little exuberant and pushes your younger (smaller, clumsier) child a bit too hard, leading to a face-plant on the grocery store tile floor and a lip half-bitten through, bleeding like a stuck pig.


I'm telling you, moments like these are happening way to damn often rare and meant to be treasured like precious jewels.

Jewels, I say.

And for those of you who say TV is bad for children, I leave you with this enlightening anecdote ...

Upon arriving home after work last week, Kays marched over to the DVD player and put in a movie. Me being the scheming harried opportunistic mom that I am, I immediately saw the chance to go to the bathroom *on my own* without having two children attempting to beat down the door because they apparently feel the need for supervision and parental guidance at all times. I mean, really. Sometimes Mom just needs to take a crap all. by. her. self. !

So I'm making a beeline for the bathroom when the previews hit the screen. Apparently what began to play was not what Kays expected to see (not, um, that she has the previews to all our movies memorized or anything), because I immediately hear her sweet little voice exclaim,

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

Oh my baby girl, how I love thee.

Pass Me a New Pair, Please

I began writing a post on the amazing properties of Mommy Goggles, which polish up the best parts of motherhood to such a rosy glow that we simply can't see the horrible parts (and as an added bonus make our own children, no matter how hideous, look truly beautiful to us) when my own gorgeous daughter called to me.

"Mommy? There's a musical instrument in my room."

Since Kays is supposed to be taking a nap, I'm not quite sure why she is affected by this. We do not have musically inclined poltergeists in our house, so said musical instrument is, I assume, laying harmlessly and quietly on her floor.

"Kays, don't worry about it. Go to sleep."

"But Mommy! I need to put it away!"

God knows, when your child wants to clean up, you do not stand in her way. Encourage that slave tidy gene!

"Okay, honey, bring it in here and then go back to bed."

Kays brings said instrument (a tambourine, if you're interested) into the living room and lays it carefully, lovingly, in the music bucket. Yes, we have a music bucket. Don't ask.

Mission accomplished, she comes over to me. "Mommy, I'm not sleepy. I want quiet time."

In our house, quiet time is mommyspeak for, "Go away. Go to your room, shut the door, and don't bother Mommy for the next two hours. Mommy needs a margarita and a bubble bath."

(Come on, now, anyone who knows me knows I don't do margaritas!)

My daughter, however, only knows that quiet time means she doesn't have to nap. Seeing as how I have this idea for a post about Mommy Goggles and I need some time to myself to get a-postin', I graciously allow her to have quiet time. Pull out the laptop, get comfy in the recliner, and--

"Mommy, there's a frog in my room!"

(This is not nearly as dramatic as she makes it seem. It's a rubber frog. A realistic rubber frog, but rubber nonetheless.)

"Kays, just put it in the hallway if it's bothering you." Which is a load of crap, because my daughter is a boy in disguise, and loves things like frogs, snakes, lizards, bats, bugs, spiders, etc. I could go on and on. But I won't.

Despite clear instructions from her mother, who is desperately trying to get her (very funny) thoughts on Mommy Goggles posted and does not need any further interruptions from small children who should been unseen and unheard at this time of day, Kays walks out of her room to put the frog in the animal bucket. Yes, we have an animal bucket. Don't ask.

She's putting the toy away, so on one hand, that's good. However, she's deliberately leaving her room, so in the other hand I'm seeing lots of bad. Instead of reprimanding her, I start counting. In Casa de Madness, the short people get to the count of 2 to stop doing whatever it is that they are currently annoying the tall people by doing. If the tall people get to 3, the short people are in Time Out. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Time Out (yes, it must be capitalized) is extremely unappealing to the short people in Casa de Madness, so the counting threat usually works well.

It also helps that when the word "THREE!" is spoken aloud, a short person will be sitting in Time Out, come hell or high water. No threats without follow-through here, no siree. We are lean, mean, Time Out-enforcing machines.

"One. Two." Long pause while I debate if it's really worth it to say three out loud, thus ensuring a histrionic fit and scattering all post-worthy thoughts to the wind. However, as per the above paragraph, once began, the Time Out countdown cannot be stopped. "Three. Time Out."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I don't want Time Out! Nooooooo! I'm in my room! I'm in my room! I don't wanna nononononononooooooooo!"

(Insert eyeroll and loud sigh on my part.) I enforce the Time Out, during which my precocious spawnling cries and carries on. "Kays, if you are this upset and grumpy, maybe you should nap instead of having quiet time."

Ominous pause.

(If you have ever spent any time with a small child, you know this is the pause in which said child is sucking all the air out of the room so as to have more with which to scream.)

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I'M NOT TIRED! I'M NOT SLEEPY! I DON'T WANNA LAY DOWN! NO NO NO NO NONONONONONONONONONOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Oh. My. Lord.

The screaming, pleading and sobbing (real, honest-to-goodness crocodile tears, nach!) continued even as I put her back in bed. She didn't stop as I told her to have a good nap. She didn't stop as I kissed her then walked out her door. She didn't stop as I sat down in the living room and tried to concentrate on my blog. She didn't stop as I yelled over her noise for her to quiet down and go to sleep. She didn't stop as my Mommy Goggles slowly cracked, splintering in front of my very eyes. She didn't stop as I stood up, crushed my Mommy Goggles into crystallized dust particles, ground them into the carpet, and stomped down the hallway to her room. She didn't stop as I (dramatically, I admit) threw open her door and asked her if she'd like to spend the rest of the day in her room. She didn't stop until she held out her arms to me and said, "You made me so sad."

Kill shot.

I take her into my arms, dry her tears, and love on her. We talk about her time out. We talk about napping, or at least trying to nap even if you're not tired. We talk about listening to Mommy. We talk about how we can't always do what we want. We end with a kiss and hug, and a compromise that she will try napping for the next 30 minutes.

I lay her into bed, cover her up with her blanket du jour. Turn on her Baby Einstein lullaby CD, and walk out of her room filled with a warm, loving, perhaps even rosy glow for my baby girl. Once again, I sit down and start ty--

"Mommy? I'm thirsty!"

Looks like the universe's supply of Mommy Goggles is funneling into Virginia these days.