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    What’s a little milk stain among Sharpie drawings, pee and ground-in playdoh?

    March 14, 2008

    My husband is a saint.

    Anyone who reads this blog realizes that.  Can you imagine being married to me?  It’ll be 2 in the morning and I will bolt out of bed, run down the stairs and make magnets.  Read email while The Boy takes a bowl filled to the BRIM with milk and cheerios up the stairs, except by the time he gets upstairs, there is no milk and cheerios in the bowl.

    D:  WHAT is going on here?
    K:  (reading email) Huh?
    D:  There is a trail of milk all the way up the stairs and down the hall.
    K:  (thinking good for The Boy to at least keep the cheerios in the bowl)  Really?
    D:  And there is a puddle of milk here on the counter.
    K:  (glaring at The Boy because despite it being HIS bad behavior, I’m getting chewed out for my failure to pay attention).  I already cleaned up one puddle.  There is another one?
    D:  Didn’t you know what he was doing?

    Of course I knew what he was doing.  But I am determined to make the Number One Parenting Mistake.  Inconsistency.  That’s me.  I told him 7 times that he couldn’t take a bowl of cereal upstairs to eat in his bed.  I cleaned up the first mess.  I told him to sit down to eat.

    and then I gave up.  Because he doesn’t listen to me.  Because I have passed (from my gina-saur–thanks Cake Lady for that one) myself.  I don’t know how all of you people who have known me all of my life or who have been forced to ride in a car with me in the early hours of the day when I c-a-n-n-o-t-s-h-u-t-t-h-e-h-e-l-l-u-p did not ever beat my incessantly talking mouth.  I am exhausting.  Alway have been.  No caffeine, no sugar, doesn’t matter.  And now I am getting it back in spades.  I do NOT want a closing argument intended to sway me to see your most ridiculous side.  I am TIRED, people.  I am TIRED of listening to the 30 minute explanation for WHY I should allow you to take a bowl of cereal up to bed.  Tired.  Tired.  Did I mention I was tired? 

    I just want to check my email.  I just want to respond to my email.  I just want to be at some small point where I feel like I am caught up on work or at least the end is in sight. 

    Maybe my goal should be to see the end of toddlerdom in sight.  Oh, wait.  The Baby just toddled by with a dinner plate and a full set of utensils.  That light at the end of the tunnel?  We call that a mirage. 

    (live near clifton, VA?  They are having their annual Spring Scavenger Hunt tomorrow at noon.  The Easter Bunny will be there.  I am TOTALLY sitting on his lap for a picture.  I hope I don’t break his leg…)

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    It’s as fresh as the air in a eucalyptus forest

    February 22, 2008

    So we are downstairs sitting on the couches, drinking the coffee I made from the beans The Cake Lady brought. 

    CL:  The boys are being to quiet.  We should check on them.
    K: They’re FINE.

    The fact that I am such a moron amazes me too.

    CL:  Seriously.
    K:  Listen.  We have nothing upstairs.  Not even nothing dangerous.  Just nothing. 
    CL:  But we haven’t HEARD them.

    The Baby was asleep but I decided to check on The Boy and His Lovah so his mother would feel better. I did the low crawl up the stairs and listened at the bedroom door.  They were going on and on and on and on about nothing.  I have no idea where they get it.  We went back downstairs to go on and on and on about nothing. 

    K:  I told you. 
    CL:  I know you did, but I don’t trust them.

    10 minutes later they came down the stairs.  Without their shoes.  Which, might I add, is something I NEVER would have noticed.

    CL:  Where are your shoes?
    Harrison:  I left them upstairs.
    K:  I’ll get them. 

    I raced up the stairs and threw open the door.  My sinuses could not have cleared faster if I had stepped into the Roman baths. I raced back down the stairs.

    K: Where is it?
    The Boy: I don’t know, Mom.
    K: Where is the bottle of Vick’s Baby Rub?
    The Boy: Mom, what are you talking about?
    Harrison: We don’t have it.

    I snatched him up because he was closer and shoved his feet into his mother’s face.

    CL: Yep. Where is the bottle?
    Harrison: We didn’t do it, Mom.
    K: Where did you put it on?
    CL: Just tell us and it will be okay. We just need to know that you didn’t eat it.

    Not exactly. It won’t be okay. I don’t care if you ate it. I just want to be sure that when I step into the bathroom, I won’t lose both feet from underneath me.

    K: Yeah, what she said. Where did you put it?
    Harrison: Just our feet.
    CL: Good. Why did you put it on your feet?
    The Boy: That’s where it goes.

    Nana. We have Nana to thank for that one.

    And the bottle is still MIA.

    If your bored, you can also find me over at PBS waxing unpoetic about my former dating life and Pride and Prejudice. Leave a comment so I look popular. You don’t even have to tell me I look pretty…

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    If he was the presidential candidate, he wouldn’t have run out of money already

    February 7, 2008

    When Maribel showed up yesterday at 5:30, The Husband was already up.  I couldn’t pry myself out of bed because I had been up most of the night with The Boy.  And the rest of the night I was up with The Baby.

    I heard them chatting downstairs.  Maribel was telling him about her two sons.  That one was going to the University.  I zoned back out and woke up a little later to pots and pans banging in the kitchen.  If you gotta wake up, waking up to the sound of someone cleaning your kitchen is the only way to go.  I went downstairs to give my “good mornings.”

    As we were chatting, she went on and on about how much the kids looked like The Husband.  How big and tall he was.  And handsome.  How he was so nice.  All of these things are true.  Then she told me that The Husband was very excited because I was going to get pregnant soon and we were going to have another baby.  This one would be a GIRL!!! 

    I felt like I was watching a political ad on t.v.  “Yes, we CAN!”

    Did I mention she was telling me all of this in Spanish?  My powers of comprehension are excellent.  My powers to speak are greatly limited.  Anyone know how to say “we’ll have another baby if he gets a uterus” in Spanish? 

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    Right before I asked for my MNAC shirt back

    January 14, 2008

    Eh

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    Dear Santa, I can explain!!!

    November 28, 2007

    Dear Santa, I can explain!!!

    OMG, I think this is the funniest shirt I have ever made! I was torn between this picture and the one of him grabbing his crotch because he needed to pee. This one is probably better for commerce, right? And for mommy? WAIT. IT’S NOT JUST FOR MOMMY!!!! IT’S FOR ALL WOMEN!!!!!!!!!!! WOOHOO for KRISTEN for not alienating the NON-MOTHER crowd.

    Dear Santa, Please Define Naughty

    Kid’s shirt, $15, Woman’s shirt, $20. I couldn’t figure out how to do a graduated discount for multiple purchases so just use the code WOOHOO to get 10% off your order of $30 or more.

    Shirts so comfy you will never want to take them off. Trust me, The Boy screamed bloody murder when I took his off after taking the picture.

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