Sunday, January 17, 2010

Despair vs. Delight

"Sleepy! Shoot those guys! Aaah! Stupid man! Sleepy! Shoot that guy!

They keeping coming, Happy!

Sleepy, that's mine! Aaah, Sleepy! Sleeeeepy! Stop trying to get me!

Let's go!

How do you press get off?

Sleepy! Come back I can't go! Sleepy! Come back! Sleepy! Come back! I can't move!

Press star!

Come on, Sleepy! Let's go!

I'm going to kill you! You killed me!

I'm not going to kill you!

Leave me alone!

We're under attack, Happy! If you want to be a Jedi, then let's switch!

Don't shoot me! Aaaah, Sleepy! I'm trying to fight someone!

Protect me, Happy! Ok, let's go!

I'm coming!

Come back here, I can't move! Come back down here! I can't go!

That's because you don't have a gun!

Die! Die! Die!

Sleepy! I was going to kill one!

Sleeeeppyyy!! Let me kill one!!


(Sneezy, the two-year-old, growling, "Die, die, die", in the background.)

You're the blue guy!

Sleepy, help me!


Wailing, "I wanna switch!"

More crying.

All of this is going on while Sleepy and Happy are playing a PS2 game that belongs to their older brother. They sneaked on while he was in the bathroom.

Screaming and yelling commence when Grumpy realizes his position in front of the TV has been usurped.

In between the yelling and screaming, Grumpy gives pointers.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Off My Rocker

Sometimes I wonder where my brain went.

I have to keep in mind, though, that the five things that I usually have to think about at once have doubled since the time we moved to AL. memory has never been so decrepit.

Yesterday evening, we were invited over to a friend's house for dinner. I decided I better pick out the boys' clothes because Lord knows they would end up wearing three-day-old jeans with a hole in the knee and a shirt with yesterday's spaghetti sauce on it if I let them pick out their own clothes.

Someone has to make sure these kids look presentable.

I go into Grumpy and Sleepy's bedroom to get a particular pair of pants from the shelf in their room for Sleepy to wear.

They weren't there.

I knew they had been. I specifically remembered that. But, for the life of me, I couldn't find them anywhere on the shelf.

I called the boys and said, "Where are the black pants with the red stripe going down the side?"

Now, to understand the situation fully, you must grasp the fact that there are a ton of clothes and they have absolutely no idea what I am talking about. But, mom is mad about the whole thing and she is going to make them understand this.

Because SOMEBODY took those pants off the shelf and I want to know WHO!

Well, time was getting away and I had to put some other pants on the kid before we rushed out the door.

Later, after having a good time and coming home pleasantly tired, I went into my room to ready for bed.

There, on my bed, as plain as day, were Sleepy's pants that I had been looking for.

I had taken them off the shelf myself earlier that day in hopes of preparing for the evening.

After this story, my kids will definitely think their mother is off her rocker.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Dishwasher Despair

Since our move to Alabama, I have been pleased as punch to know that I will have a working dishwasher. With a seven-person family, that really comes in handy.

After living on plastic and styrofoam for about a week, I was finally ready to break in the dishwasher in our new home.

The kitchen was unpacked and we had used our dishware and silverware and I was happily putting everything in the dishwasher to be cleaned and sterilized.


Then, the let-down.

I pushed the door in and turned the knob and.....nothing.


"Um, honey? Uh, the dishwasher doesn't seem to be working."

After a couple minutes of pondering the situation and stewing over the fact that the owner of the house we are renting probably will not put in a new dishwasher, I had to face the fact that I did not have the most desired-for dishwasher that I needed.

Time for the tantrum.

"I do NOT want to wash dishes for the rest of my LIFE!" I yelled into the kitchen.

Next came the pouting. So, I went to the bathroom and locked the door for a while.

After a few minutes, I came back out to do some more unpacking. Doc was happily putting together some lamps he had bought at the store and he asked cheerfully, "Wanna come see the new lamps? Come see!"

Being the in the dirty, rotten mood that I was, I growled, "At this point, I don't have a working dishwasher. So, woop dee frickin' doo."

Doc got up, went into the kitchen, flipped the switch on the wall above the sink and voila! The dishwasher came to life!

To say I felt relief after that would not be good enough. I went from despair to ecstatic happiness in a nanosecond.

My husband is my hero. He flips a switch and all is right with the world.

Alabama "Snake"

Well, we have bid a fond adieu to the beautiful mountains of Colorado and greeted Alabama with an accepting heart. Of course, we could do this because of the rumors of balmy weather and green stuff that grows everywhere.

Instead, we were greeted with bone-chilling cold and cracked lips. I wasn't really expecting my poor, dry skin to take a turn for the worse, but alas, I reach for the lotion every five minutes.

My sons have had absolutely no problem announcing to the entire neighborhood and a couple neighborhoods across town of our arrival.

One of our first nights in the area, we all troop outside to clambor into the car. This takes a lot of time and great effort on the parents' part. A friend of ours once said it is like herding cats. Very apt.

They decided to take their time getting into the car and explored the driveway. Since it was dark outside, it was hard to see and they mistook a big stick in the driveway as a snake.

Bashful has made it known among the family that Alabama has big, bad, scary snakes amongst the reptile population. So, when they saw that stick, they made sure I could hear them from the back door as I was coming out.

"Mom! There's a snake! A snake! There's a SNAKE in the driveway!"

Of course, what am I supposed to do at this point besides take a cursury glance at the "snake" (to make sure it is just a stick, of course) and tell them in my best "mothery-I'm-not-yelling-in-front-of-the-neighbors voice" that there is no snake and it is just a stick. NowpleasegetintothecarbeforeIscream.

All in a pleasant, non-threatening voice for the neighbors' benefit.

Because I wouldn't want the neighbors to begin to think that they have a crazy, screaming banshee living on their street.

My sons already know they have a crazy, screaming banshee for a mother. That's bad enough.