Sunday, March 11, 2012

I Love you Eleven (Insert sigh here)

 There is at least one time a day that I want to tell my kids to fuck off. I don’t do it of course. But I think it.
 Love Monster draws on the flat screen. “Fuck you!”
 Love Monster opens the door for the tenth time during nap time for another stupid reason “Fuck you!”
 And on a particularly bad day, Smirker spills yogurt on my sleeve. “Oh fuck you baby.”
 I  replace that thought with sigh now. I sigh a lot as a mom. Even as I write that I can’t help but burst out a exasperated, annoyed sigh. I’ve also started to swear Battlestar style to censor myself in front of my kids, and now they just swear Battlestar style. Frak. Pretty awesome.

 Here’s a glimpse into my sighing, fraking brain on any old day

 I wake up to Bees, Love Monster’s ever present bear in my face. 
 “Smell him Mama.” 
 He smells like a mixture of mildew, rotten milk and gummy worms. Good morning. 
 Breakfast. The girls eat. I sweep the eighty percent that doesn’t make it into their mouths.
 8:45 Smirker’ s morning dump. Diaper change/wrestling match commences. I make shit on my face look good.
 Coloring time. What they don’t tell you is as a mom you’re expected to be friggin Picasso. If I would have known this I would have taken a few art classes in college. Love Monster never hesitates to tell me when my hippopotmous looks like shit.
 We ditch the crayons for her Mount Trashmore of toys in the corner of the room.
 Love Monster brings over a baby in a toy fryer.
 “Mama is she okay?”
 “She’s in a fryer, but other than that she looks pretty great.”
 “She’s sleeping mama.” Aw death is adorable.
 “Yeah sweets. I know.”
 Snacks. I vaccum the sixty percent that is all over the carpet.
 Dammit we got new child proof crap on the cabinets. Guess I won’t be getting anything out of there today.
 Where’s Smirker? Dammit! 
 “Love Monster where is your sister?”
 Oh of course.
  “Smirker get out of the entertainment center.”
 “Mama I got to go potty!” Love Monster exclaims. 
 “Try going by yourself.” This couch is too damn comfortable and I need to find out if Bella’s gonna pick Edward or Jacob. Shut up. I know what you’re thinking.
 “I need help wiping. Hey look it looks like a fire hydrant.” Sure does.
 “Mama let’s play hide and seek!” Great Love Monster sucks at this game.
 “Smirker you go first!” Love Monster yells. Oh awesome. My eighteen month old sucks even worse.
 “Smirker get out of the potty.”
 Crafts before nap! I make the mistake of including Love Monster in the process of using egg cartons to make doll house furniture. Does she want her barbie to look like she lives in a crack house? I mean come on kid.
 “Hold on a second Frank do you have underwear on?” These are the sentences that come out of my mouth.
 “Smirker get out of the couch.” Seriously. She was inside it.
 I collapse on the couch and drink in the rare moments of peace. I remember when “nap time” used to be a nooner.
 I’m still wearing my teeshirt and sweatpants. I dress like Kevin Smith when I’m at home. So sue me. It’s Love Monster friendly. I haven’t even thought of taking a shower yet and it’s two o’clock. I might as well wait until tomorrow.
 They’re up. Now Love Monster either morphs into polly anna after nap or Gary Busey. “There is no other Love Monster!” She yells out here door. Busey it is.
 “Mama, can you put Calliou on?”
  Ugh! He’s bald at four and talks like a mutated baby. What is up??? 
 “Mama can I have peanut butter on a spoon.” 
 “Mama, I need a new dress on.”
 “Mama, I want to look like a princess.”
 “Mama, I broke the remote.”
  “Mama, the dvd’s not working.”
  “Mama, I want to listen to Air supply. Mama! Mama! Mama! Mama!”
 I really should look into making tiny pockets in shoulders of all my shirts that can contain a cyanide pill. 
 “Smirker, you got anything to say?” I ask my drooling one.
  “Dah dah dah! Bot!” That’s what I thought.
 I take a three minute Ipod- trashy-pop break in the bathroom. “Poppin bottles in the ice, like a blizzard, When we drink we do it right gettin slizzard. Sippin sizzurp in my ride, like Three 6. Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6Like a G6, Like a G6.”
 I am refreshed.
 More sucky coloring. More playing hide and seek where Love Monster “hides” in the same out in the open spot every time. “Oh my god she’s on top of the coffee table. What a surprise.”
 Roly polly time (I endorse this.Try with your significant other later). Put a blanket on the floor. The kids roll all over each other. They find this insanely fun. Smirker rolls her butt over Love Monster’s face.
 “Mama, Smirker needs her diaper changed.”
 They both have taken at least four craps today. 
 The husband comes home and plays with them for five minutes. “You get to play toddler games all day! You have the easiest job.” Hurray for Dad of the year.
 Dinner is eaten. The sun has set.The day is done. Love Monster’s hair looks like Mrs. Garett’s and Smirker looks like she could be the third member of Oasis (this was all her hair would do until we made it to the Pebbles stage).
 Baths are given. Smirker laps up the water like it’s sweat off Justin Beiber’s pecs (If he had any) and when I tell her to stop because she’s drinking her own filth she looks at me like I’m an idiot: “Its water. You expect me not to drink it. That’s not human.”


 “Love you mama,” Love Monster says.
 “I love you too,”  I sigh closing the door behind me. Another day done.
 “I love you 11,” She says. I smile.
 “I love you 24,” I say.
 “I love you 79!” She says erupting into laughter.

Aw well, that makes it all worth it, doesn't it?

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