I went to a Holiday Cookie Exchange party the other night at The Cake Lady’s house. It’s only been since I have moved to this house that I have “friends.” Before I had “friend (Hi, B, Renee, Cath!!! Singularly and never in the same place)” Now I go places in packs like the rest of you popular people have been doing for years. I pee with other people now. It’s nice.
Of course I didn’t tell The Boy that I was going to The Cake Lady’s house because if he knew I was going to be with his lover Harrison then it would have been all over. I just told him that I was going out with Wendy. And the interrogation began.
E: momomomomomomomom. I want to go with you and Wendy.
K: You can’t.
K: Dad would miss you.
E: Dadadadadad. You wouldn’t miss me. Why can’t I go with Mom?
D: How come you always put on makeup when you go out with your girlfriends?
Um, cause I’m hoping to pick up the guy who cleans out the fish tank across the street? It’s a vag1na party, for heaven’s sake. I’m putting on makeup to cover the fact that I am twice the weight of every person who will be at this party and will be nibbling on nothing, complaining about moving from a size 2 to a 4 during the holidays. A juniors 4, that is. Nothing says “Look at my face instead of my ass that can barely fit through a doorway” like harem red lipstick.
K: You can’t come. It’s just for moms.
E: But MOM. I want to go to Wendy’s house too!!!!
K: You can’t go to Wendy’s house.
E: So you are going to Wendy’s house?
Rookie, rookie mistake. Had I been the interrogator, I would have given the suspect my best “SUCKER” face. His father looked on in dismay. The kid is 3 and he just flipped his mother. This isn’t looking good. Wendy showed up in the nick of time and brought a plate full of kick ass cookies just for the kids. We left. Apparently their father let them have two and then they had to go to bed. He put the tray up on top of the fridge. We had an awesome time at the party and I talked too much. That happens when they only let you out of the psycho ward every 6 months for visitation.
The next day the kids were being kinda quiet in the kitchen and there was some noise but I wasn’t paying attention because I was busy taking the 600 dead lights off the tree and putting on the new strands. I love Christmas. Because the lights had to work the first 20 minutes I put them on the tree and then put all that breakable stuff around them. Dammit. Suddenly I heard The Husband YELL.
It appears that The Baby (you read that right) decided that he and The Boy needed some of Wendy’s stash and he found a stool in the laundry room. He brought it out and put it against the counter. He climbed onto the counter, up on the microwave and began reaching across the top of the fridge from the top of the microwave for the cookies. When he couldn’t reach them, he decided to just push the tray over onto the floor for easier access. Why do all that work for one when you can have 20? It was only then that The Dog decided that maybe he too should indulge in some reindeer games. When The Husband entered the kitchen, he said there was a feeding frenzy on the floor, with the kids trying to eat faster than the 95 pound Lab.
You tell them never to stand on the top of the microwave, but do they listen? No. You think you lock the stools up in the laundry room but does that stop them? No.
I’m so glad my husband is leaving me alone with these children tomorrow. Go to work. Really. I’ll be fine. I have to wonder what happened to that last pack of matches though…