Well, that was really crappy of Moon? and the llama?

Peanut, apropos of absolutely nothing:  And then, he was done with what he was doing and he said he was going to do it and HE DIDN'T!
Me:  Wha, huh?
Peanut:  The llama.
Me:  The, llama?
Peanut:  Yes!  Exactly.  And he didn't.
Me:  Could you possibly stop and explain to me exactly what the hell you are talking about?
Peanut:  The llama.  Moon said he would and he finished what he was doing and he still didn't.
Me:  ???
Peanut, completely disgusted:  Nevermind.

About twenty minutes. Only slightly condensed.

There are approximately seven hours between picking the boys up from school and them passing out at night. This represents about twenty minutes. I'm not great at math, but I think that equates to this basic series of events occurring 21 times, every....fucking....day....

Peanut: Mom. They keep saying the "s" word.
Me, in the kitchen making dinner: Who?
Peanut: This song.
Me: Oh. Yeah. Don't listen to that.
Peanut: Okay.
Henny, coming downstairs: Mommy, I pee in my pants.
Me: Why did you pee your pants.
Henny: I dunno.
Me: Let's get you cleaned up. Moon, can you get some new pants for Henny?
Moon, rolling eyes: Urghhhhhh!!!!
Me: I know. Just help out, okay?
Peanut: What's for dinner?
Me: Greek salad with chicken.
Peanut: I hate that.
Henny: I heet that!
Me: You do not.
Peanut, poking and hitting Moon: Moon, play with me. Play with me! PLAY WITH ME!
Moon: Ow! Mom, he hit me!
Me: Don't hit your brother.
Peanut: He won't play with me.
Me: Of course he won't. You're hitting him.
Peanut: I want him to play with me.
Me: Nobody wants to play with someone who's hitting. Be nice.
Peanut: I don't want to be nice. I want him to play with me.
Me, bending over: He's not going to play with you if you're hitting him. Moon! Can you get some pants for Henny?!
Henny, hopping on my back: Piggy wide!
Me, falling over: No. No piggy ride. Get off of me. Moon! Get Henny some pants, please!
Moon: Urghhhhh!!!
D, calling on the phone: Gurgle gurgle gurgle.
Me: What, I can't hear you. You're breaking up.
Henny: I wan talk a Dad. I wan a talk a Dad. Lemme talk a Dad.
D: Gurgle gurgle gurgle.
Henny: I wan talk a Dad. I need talk a Dad.
Me: I can't hear you at all.
D: Gurgle gurgle gurgle.
Henny: I need talk a Dad!
Me: I'm going to go.
Henny: I need talk a Dad!
D: Gurgle gurgle bye.
Me: Dinner's ready. Come and eat guys.
Henny: I heet that.
Me: You don't hate that.
Peanut: I don't want any salad. I hate salad.
Me: Don't eat salad.
Henny: I don't wan chicken. I heet chicken.
Me: Don't eat chicken.
Henny: I spilled.
Me: Okay. I'll clean it up. Let me grab a napkin.
Henny: I lick it?
Me: No. Do not lick the table.
Henny: I lick it.
Me: Please stop licking the table.
Henny: I need salad. I wan scoop it.
Me: I'll scoop it for you.
Henny: I wan scoop it. I need scoop it!
Me: No. Let me do it. Here, here's a scoop of salad for you.
Henny: No. I need more. I need scoop it.
Me: If you eat all that I'll give you another scoop.
Henny: No. I wan scoop it. I can't eat all dis. It's too much.
Me: That makes no sense.
Peanut: Can I have a dessert?
Me: I do not even care.
Henny: I wan ice cream!
Me: Have ice cream. I don't care.
Henny: Can I have more ice cream?
Me: Don't care. Hey, we need to go pick up Dad from the train. It's raining.
Henny: I don't wan pick Dad.
Me: It's raining. We need to pick up Dad.
Henny: Can I bring my ice cream?
Me: No.
Henny: Why? I wan bring my ice cream.
Me: You can't take ice cream in the car.
Henny: I bring my ice cream.
Me: You're not bringing your ice cream.
D: Hi! How are you?
Me: Eh.
D: What's wrong.
Me: Just. You know. They're just.
D: Dinner smells good.
Peanut, running around corner: NAKEDSTUFF!!! NAKEDSTUFF!!!
Me: Where. are. your. clothes?!?!

Haitians totally need Shrinky Dinks

True story: my therapist yawned today. It was somewhere in between telling her about my kid's totally normal, average, uneventful birthday party and talking about how I STILL don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Okay, maybe it wasn't so much a yawn as a barely audible sigh, but I could tell I am boring the shit out of her and she's only still seeing me because I look like a dollar sign. And I'm only still going because I'm not assertive enough to tell her that I probably don't need to see her anymore (And if she's reading my blog, "Hi!" also, we should probably revisit my "fear of confrontation" issues).

Before going this morning, I asked friends on Skype to make up something for me to talk about because I am fresh out of material. The best anyone could come up with was to tell her that I eat toilet paper (thanks ANGIE, glad you guys are so creative). Aside from a general malaise brought on by six months of shit weather and raising three sons that make me want to eat Xanax like Altoids, I'm freakishly normal from a mental health perspective.  But that sigh?  That hurts.  Because therapy?  It's like a cocktail party.  I am there to entertain.  And eat all the pigs-in-a-blanket.

When she sighed, I knew it was time to up my game.  Haul out the big-guns.  Really blow her away with the depth of my insanity.  So, I blurted out, "Last week I paid $10 for Shrinky Dinks.  For Haiti."

Have I mentioned that I am shit under pressure?

"You bought Shrinky Dinks?  For Haiti?"  She wanted to kill herself right then and there.  I could tell.  But when I commit to something, I see it through.  So I spent thirty minutes telling my therapist about my hatred of the local Home School Association.  That's the PTA, by the way.  But here they call it the HSA.  Because it's apparently classier to use a name that makes NO FUCKING SENSE.

I hate the HSA for multiple reasons including their fund-raiser abuse, their ridiculous committees,  the expectation that every woman in town should want to put in 40 hours a week on meaningless projects for NO PAY, and the fact that it's a small-town social power play in the guise of "helping our over-privileged children."  I hate them because they use the meetings as an opportunity to make other women cry.  I hate them because last year at ONE SCHOOL (there are four in the district) they raised $110,000 through fund-raisers, of which the school got to keep $30,000.  The rest went to pay for the shitty chocolates and over-priced wrapping paper they made our kids pimp out.  I hate them because they're too crappy at math to realize that if each family sent in a check for $100/year they could do away with these stupid-ass fundraisers.  I hate them because since I got home from therapy, I've gotten three e-mails asking for money via new fundraisers.  (Except the one about the fundraiser at a bar.  I can get behind that).  But mostly I hate them because they made me buy Shrinky Dinks.  For Haiti.

My therapist might as well kill herself.  Or drink before our sessions.  Because I am going to ride this HSA crazy train for weeks.

How about you?  Is your PTA an objectives focused organization?  Or a social clique machine?  And does anyone else have one called the HSA?  What does that even mean?

Valid point

Me: You need to get your fanny in here right now and do the cleaning up I asked you to do.
Peanut: I don't even know what I'm supposed to clean up.
Me: All this food the dog got into.
Peanut: Um, it's kind of your fault this happened in the first place.
Me: I'm not the one who left my lunch on the table.
Peanut: Yeah, but the dog wouldn't have had a chance to make a mess if we wouldn't have left the house. So, that makes it your fault.
Me: It doesn't matter whose fault it is. It just matters that we get it cleaned up.
Peanut: Um, yeah. It kind of does. You know. So we know who to blame.

Oh, sorry

Laying in bed at night with Henny:
Henny: Da-ee has penis?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Peanut has penis?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Moon has penis?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Mahwee has tail?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Mommy has penis?
Me, shaking head no.
Henny: Mommy has boob?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Da-ee has penis?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Mahwee has tail?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Peanut has penis?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Moon has penis?
Me: Yes. Daddy has a penis, and Moon has a penis, and Peanut has a penis, and Molly has a tail, and Mommy has a boob.
Henny, whispering: Shh...quiet. I seeping, Mommy.

Really? Dad and I just call that "Tuesday"

Moon: Can I have a sleepover this weekend?
Me: No. But you can have one in two weeks.
Moon: Ok. Because I haven't had a sleepover since summer.
Me: That's not true.
Moon: Well, I've had K over twice, but I mean, I haven't had a GOOD sleepover. Where I go to someone else's house.
Me: So, you're saying it's not a good sleepover if it's at our house? I'm mildly offended by that.
Moon: Sorry, but it's not a good sleepover at our house.
Me: And why is that?
Peanut: Because I always annoy him.
Me: That's not a good reason.
Moon: Mom! He took off his pants, put on a mask, and ran into my room yelling "NAKED NINJA!" I don't call that a "good" sleepover.

And once again

Peanut: Mom, do you want this little comb that came with your new mustache scissors?
Me: Nose-hair scissors.
Peanut: Whatever. Do you want this little mustache comb?
Me: No.
Peanut: You're not going to use it?
Me: No.
Peanut: Can I have it?
Me: Yes.
Peanut: Cool. I'm going to grow a mustache. I mean, not yet, but when I do grow one I'm going to comb it.
Me: Ok.
Peanut, leaning over my face: Do you want me to comb your mustache for you?
Me: No.
Peanut: Because I could, you know...

Yeah, I know

Peanut: Mom! Why did you buy these mustache trimming scissors?
Me: To trim my nose hair.
Peanut: Oh, I thought you were going to trim your mustache.
Me: No. I need to trim my nose hair.
Peanut: So, you're not going to grow your mustache out?
Me: No. I'm not.
Peanut: You have a mustache, you know.

I hate age 11

Me: Hey, I have an idea. How about we go to the barber shop this afternoon and you can all get haircuts.
Moon: I don't like my hair short.
Me: I know. But you really need it cut.
Moon: I don't want it cut.
Me: Even though you wrestle with it every morning in the bathroom?
Moon: I just put that spray conditioner on and it's fine.
Me: Have you seen a mirror lately?
Moon: I want my hair long.
Me: Moon, I am trying so hard to let you express yourself. I know it's your hair and you should have a say in how it looks. But, ohmygod I hate your hair!
Moon: You just think boys should have short hair.
Me: Not boys. Just you.
Moon: I'm not getting a hair cut.
Me: It looks like you have a dead animal on your head.
Moon: I like it.
Me: You look like Phil Spector.
Moon: I don't want a haircut.
Me: I hate your hair.
Moon: I like it.
Me: Go get me a Q-Tip.
Moon: Why?
Me: So I can clean the wax out of your ears.
Moon: That's not fair.
Me: I don't care. I'm not having the kid with the poofy hair and the dirty ears.

I guess I'm glad there wasn't a machete wielding psychopath at the front door

Peanut: MOM!
Me: WHAT?!
Peanut: MOM!
Me: WHAT?!
Peanut: MOM!
Me: I'm in the shower! I can't hear you!
Peanut, increasing urgency: MOM!
Me: What? Is someone here? Come up here! I can't hear you! Are you okay?!
Peanut: MOM!
Me, getting out of shower, dripping, sticking soaking wet head out bathroom door: WHAT?!
Peanut: Can we go to Target?
Me: No.

No, not exactly the same

Pushing Peanut on the swing at the park.

Me: Want me to do an underdog?
Peanut: No.
Me: Good. I'm too old for that. Grandma used to do underdogs when I was a kid. But to be fair, she was like, 21.
Peanut: What did Grandma look like when she was 21?
Me: Mmm...I dunno. I guess she had curly hair. Otherwise, pretty much the same.
Peanut: Even the same wrinkles?

Shake your love. I shake shake shake your love.

Me:  Peanut, would you mind grabbing me a Monster Energy Drink from the basement fridge.
Peanut:  I guess.
Me:  Thanks.

Peanut:  Here you go.
Me:  Thank you very much.


Peanut:  Um, Mom.  Monster Energy Drink isn't a soda, is it?
Me:  Yes.  It's just a soda with a lot of caffeine so you can't have it.
Peanut:  Right.  But it's not the kind of soda that has fizz in it, is it?
Me:  Yes.  It's carbonated.
Peanut:  Right.  But it's not the kind of soda that would explode if you shook it before you opened it, is it?
Me:  Go get me a different one.

Time to re-check his browser settings

Peanut:  Hey Mom!  When you click on a pop-up, it always takes you to a different site where it says you have to enter your ID.
Me:  Do NOT click on pop-ups.
Peanut:  I know.  I didn't.  But, this kid in my class, he has a much older brother, and HE clicked on some pop-ups and it took him to this site that tried to get his ID.
Me:  Do NOT click on pop-ups.
Peanut:  Oh, I know!  I didn't.  Besides.  It's always just a scam so people can probably come to your house and steal all your stuff.
Me:  Yes.  That is exactly right.

This is just getting out of hand

Debt collector on phone:  Yes, I'm from Blank Collections Agency.  Your husband's corporate AmEx account has been placed with us for collections.
Me:  Yes, I know.  He's working on figuring out his reimbursements and trying to get paid for them.
Debt collector:  He is no longer with the company, correct?
Me:  Yes.  That's correct.  He has a number of reimbursements that he never took care of, and he needs to get in touch with HR to figure out how to handle it.
Debt collector:  Well, we have a very close relationship with AmEx and his former company, so is there anything we can do to help you?
Me:  I"m not sure.  We spent yesterday going through credit card bills looking at expenses.  What we really need are copies of expense reports from former company so we can see what has been reimbursed and what hasn't.  I'm hoping there's not going to be an issue with them processing the reimbursements.
Debt collector:  They may be able to set up a manual access to the system so he can get those records.
Me:  That would be helpful.
Debt collector:  Let me see what I can....
Toddler, pushing button to hang up telephone:  Fucker phone?

Tossing the pigskin?

Me:  What color is the guinea pig?
Toddler:  Socceh ball pig.
Me:  Yes!  The pig looks like a soccer ball.
Toddler:  I keek socceh ball pig?
Me:  No, No!  We don't kick the pig!
Toddler:  I keek socceh ball pig.

Would someone else care to explain why this is inappropriate?

Peanut, singing:  Santa's comin' tonight, tonight.  Santa's comin' tonight.
Me, ignoring him...
Peanut, singing:  Santa's comin' tonight, tonight.  Santa's comin' tonight.
Me, still ignoring him....
Peanut, singing:  Santa's comin' in meh butthole, Sant's comin' in meh butthole.
Me, no longer ignoring him:  Um, no!  Not appropriate.  Absolutely not.
Peanut:  What?  Why is that inappropriate?
Me, at a loss:  Because you can't say butthole.
Peanut:  We say butthole all the time.
Me:  It's not appropriate because I say so.  And I'm the Mom.
Peanut, sighing:  I don't get you.

Oh. Ok.

Toddler:  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  He's at basketball.
Toddler.  Oh.  Ok.  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  At basketball.
Toddler:  Oh.  Ok.  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  Daddy went to play basketball.
Toddler:  Oh.  Ok.  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  Daddy's at school.
Toddler:  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  Daddy's at work.
Toddler:  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  Daddy's in the bathroom.
Toddler:  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  Daddy's at basketball.
Toddler:  Oh.  Ok.  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  I don't know, but I hope he's bringing home liquor.

Schpeak up, Schonny

Peanut:  Mom!  I peed in the bathtub and the Toddler just put tub water in a cup and drank it!
Me:  Oh my God!  That's disgusting.  Drain the tub.
Peanut:  I poured it on him.
Me:  No!  I said drain the tub.  Do not pour pee water on your brother.
Peanut:  Come on, Mom.  Are you deaf?  I wouldn't pour pee water on him.  I SAID, "I farted on him."

They'll probably find this even funnier when they learn what "cock" means....

In the back yard with all three boys.  Neighbors are home.  There is a little league baseball game going on across the street.  Lots of local families within hearing range.

Me:  Come on, let me use the swing.
Moon:  No!
Me:  Come on.
Moon, laughing:  No!
Me:  Ick.  When is the last time you brushed your teeth?
Moon:  Mmm.....I dunno.  Probably this morning.
Me:  You have chocolate cake all over your top teeth.  Gross.
Moon, laughing:  I have chocolate cahk?
Me:  Cake.  I said cake.
Moon:  Chocolate cahk!
Me:  Stop it.  I said cake.
Peanut, laughing:  Chocolate cahk!
Moon:  I need to brush my chocolate cahk!
Peanut:  You have chocolate cahk!
Me:  Ok.  Can we please stop yelling chocolate cahk?
Moon:  You said it!  Listen I have a song.....

Honestly, I don't even remember how the song went.  But it had a lot of chocolate cahk in it.  And I totally will understand if the entire community bans their children from playing at my house.  But, the cahk was delicious.

Asshole

At the pool, Peanut:  Mom, will you hold me?
Me, snuggling him:  Sure.  Are you tired.
Peanut:  No.
Me:  Cold?
Peanut:  No.
Me:  Just want a hug?
Peanut:  No.
Me:  Are you peeing on me?
Peanut, laughing and swimming away:  Yes!