Conversations with Convicts

So, the new normal seems to be a Monday night post to update the last week's insanity. There's just no time to catch my breath right now. Here's the run down of the last week. Please heed this warning, if you are prone to blush or be easily embarrassed, you might as well stop reading right now. If you are prone to spew your drink out of your nose if you laugh too hard, you'd better put the drink down now. It's been one of THOSE weeks!

February 2010

February 2011

February 2012

Let's just begin this little jaunt down looney lane with last weekend. It was Dad's birthday. I'm amazed at the progression of the kids each year through these pictures. However, look closely at this year's picture and you might be just as disturbed as I was. Annie is holding the cake cutter as if she's Chucky coming to get you. Dasha is eyeing Grandma like she's sizing her up compared to the straight jacket she just bought. And then there's Grant. His look (and the lighter) say about all that needs to be said. So, what is normally considered to be a joyous day sort of takes on a story of it's own after looking at this year's picture. (And, poor Dad isn't sure if he should lean in and snuff out the fire stick or try to protect Grandma from the cake cutter). Where was I while all of this was going on? Well, I've learned a thing or two over the last few months and I'm getting smarter by the second. I was behind the camera gently inching toward the front door ready to flee the moment things got out of hand. Yep. This girls got some learnin' goin' on in her noggin!

The broken doughnut

I mentioned this whole drama last week (I think). Anyway, Annie woke up for several nights in hysterics screaming about her "broken doughnut." Of course, I'd go in and comfort her (while mumbling under my breath that I wish Benadryl would work on this little angel). Every night, it was the same thing. She'd cry and cry and blow snot bubbles and tell me about a broken doughnut. We emptied out her entire kitchen area looking for a broken doughnut. There was nothing there. She did have a few other doughnuts in her set but they were just fine. Finally, we found the broken doughnut. It was not a figment of her imagination as I'd assumed. It was real. It was at Grandma's house amongst the kitchen stuff there. Geez. I really was beginning to worry that this girl was dreaming about being a cop and missing her doughnuts. I'm still not sure why this crazy mystery only surfaced between 1 and 3 a.m. but I'm grateful that I didn't have to call in NCIS or Columbo to solve the mystery! (I'd probably have tried to get the guy from Lie to Me first, though)!

And that, my friends, brings me to last Monday night. Prior to my post last week, I really thought that I was going to have to hand my Mommy Card in. For my Dad's birthday, I baked 3 dozen cupcakes to surprise him with at the scout meeting. First of all, I've admitted more than once that I am not Martha Stewart. The only thing that I ever might even have in common with the woman would be getting locked up. However, in moments of crisis, for some crazy reason, the spirit of Martha always seems to possess me! Thinking I was some diva baker, I whipped up 3 dozen cupcakes (thank you Betty Crocker boxed cake mix - definitely NOT Martha approved) and let them cool. As they cooled, this little crumb snatcher, grabbed a couple of "muffins" and popped them in her mouth. OK. I calmed down and did the math. There were still enough "muffins" to feed the troops so things were going to be alright. Then, I needed to ice those bad boys. Ha. I felt like Dora when she chooses the map (instead of the crayon) to get her over the Troll Bridge or when Blue finally sits on his Thinking Chair and solves the mystery! Ta-Da! I'd seen Martha use a Ziploc bag before as an icing utter. (Um, not sure what the appropriate term is but I bet you know what I'm talking about despite your utter shock)! :) I plopped a bunch of icing into the baggie, snipped the corner off and, nope. Not gonna work. I didn't snip enough of the bag off. So, I snipped again. Yep. It worked - a little too well. Icing started oozing out every where. I moved as fast as I could to just put a pile of the stuff on each cupcake. Mind you, as I'm doing this and feeling very panicky, Annie is dragging her stool around my feet saying, "Can I help you? Can I help you?" I'll admit. I wanted to scream, "Yes, you can help me by being quiet for 3 nanoseconds and standing still over there, away from my bubble of anxiety!" No. I didn't say it. (If you don't know Annie, I'll tell you that even if I had said that to her, she wouldn't have been bothered. She would have continued to drag her stool around and follow me). So, I finally got icing globbed on each cupcake and then used a butter knife (I think that's what it is. It's a cute little knife with a triangular shaped blade) and smoothed the icing out. Finally, I stuffed the cupcakes into a big box and waited for Mom to come and watch the girls so I could deliver the confections to the meeting.

I really thought that I was getting the better part of this deal. Mom was left to bathe and bed the girls while I delivered cupcakes and celebrated with Dad and the boys. NOT! Do you know what a group of boys between the ages of 12 and 18 acts like? I heard more bodily noises and disgusting jokes than I care to hear in a month. There wasn't enough sweetness in those 30 cupcakes to counteract the testosterone pumping through that building. Ugh. However, I managed to tough it out and Dad was genuinely surprised. It was worth my elevated blood pressure and need for a very long and hot shower to wash away the stench of all of those boys afterwards!

For some kids, they need to carry about a blanket for security. For others, they want a special lovey to carry around. For Annie, she needs her stool. I can identify the exact location of Annie by the sound this stool makes while scraping across the floor. Our newest discovery - reaching the sink via the stool. This is a wonderful thing when it's time to wash hands or clean a dirty face. However, turning the sink off seems to be a challenge that she's not up to meeting yet. Once again, I am SO thankful to have tile floors in the kitchen. Whew.

If you haven't seen these "Annie Antics" via FB, please take a moment and make up your own captions for these. And yes, it has already been very well established that Annie is simply mimicking me getting on my own broom in the last shot. Go ahead and say it. Many others have! :)

As for the big kids, there aren't any photos to go with their antics this week. (Those who've heard the story are breathing major sighs of relief on that note)! So, the first email came on Friday. Dasha's teacher informed me that she was having conversations with a boy about... oh, what shall we call it... girl business, lady's days, meeting Aunt Flo... ok. I'm sure you got the picture. I've had SO many conversations with her about being discrete and private but for some reason, she just doesn't get it. So, this weekend, knowing that I was opening up a major can of worms, I kind of danced around having "the talk" with her to see what she knew. Here's what I got. The birds and the bees according to Dasha - Having a boyfriend means that you talk and hug. If you kiss them, that means you've had sex with them. The only time a boy and girl should touch is if they're hugging, kissing, or helping each other. (OK, I got the giggles so bad at that point that I had to take an intermission. The smart alack in my brain wanted to say, "I've never heard it called 'helping each other' before")! Geez. Anyway, I tried to gently steer the conversation back to first base and start at the beginning. Well, it didn't take too long to realize that we needed the remedial beginner's version. After a few very blunt questions from me, I came to the conclusion that Dasha didn't have any clue that there wasn't anything like "boys business, men's days, or visits from Uncle Flo!" Why in the world was she worried with trying to be secretive about something that she thought everyone dealt with. Ugh. I'll admit that I had a visual image of someone stamping "FAILED" across my forehead at that moment. So, I gently lowered the bomb that boys didn't have the same issues. Of course, that was followed with, "Then why do girls have to deal with it?" I truly tried to give just the facts and leave any emotions out of my whole delivery. However, the look on the poor girl's face was just too much to handle at some points and I couldn't decide if I wanted to laugh or cry. So, we ended the conversation much as I end the conversation with Annie. Boys and girls are just different. After pondering that thought for several hours, I think I might just leave the discussion at that because that's about all that holds true in every single account! :) (Oh, but I did order a couple of books from Amazon because I'll admit major defeat in this area. Eric handled this business with Grant and I have a hard time staying serious. I can't even say some of the terminology without getting the church giggles). Geez.

However, it got even better after that. Don't say I didn't tell you! The minute a boy gets involved, things get ten times more complicated! So, Grant climbs in the van and kind of sits quietly for a minute. I can't decide if he's huffing at me for another unknown reason or if there's a problem. So, I fall for his bait and ask him what's wrong. Absolutely nothing could have prepared me for his question (not even my discussion with him after this year's sex ed class). He mumbles quietly so I almost had to have him repeat the question but he said, "What does choking the chicken mean?" Seriously? I'm SO thankful that I was stopped at a traffic light. I'm pretty sure that I would have put the van into a ditch if I'd been any further down the road. Well. Now. Do I answer him? Play dumb? Tell him to call his dad? Crap! In my mind, I was flipping through all of the episodes of The Cosby Show to figure out what Cliff or Claire would have done if Theo had asked them a question like that but I came up empty. So, I tried to answer his question with a question. (Some might call this stalling). After a few questions from me that got more and more detailed, his poor face went white and then he burst out laughing. Well, dang. I was glad he was laughing because my blood pressure had definitely exceeded it's maximum limit! (Look folks, the first thing I'll admit to is naivety so I'm not really even sure how I knew what the term meant but I was kind of glad that I did at that moment). For the rest of the night, every time Grant made eye contact with me, he bust out laughing and ran off. Poor thing!

What I neglected to mention about this whole scenario was that the girls were in the back seat. I thought they were doing their own things and oblivious to my heart attack and Grant's embarrassment. Nope. Without going into any more detail than I've already subjected you to, I can tell you that Dasha heard just enough to be dangerous. She decided to "one up" her new found knowledge about what boys don't have to deal with by telling someone that boys can most certainly choke chickens. (When she told me what she'd said, she literally made a choking sign with her hands around her neck). Ugh. And this, my friends, is why I'm having a sign painted to hang over the front door that reads, "Randolph Asylum!" Once again, we had another conversation about parts and pieces, their respective owners, and the privacy that they demand. Maybe Dasha would have been better off in a nudist colony where there are no secrets of this nature. Just saying!

So, as the week begins, I'm looking forward to celebrating Annie's 3rd birthday this weekend. She's getting a new "big girl room" with an official big girl bed that she won't fall out of. (Oh yeah. Add her falling out of the little toddler bed every couple of nights to our list of night time interruptions). :)

As for me, I'm finding myself again for who I really am and I have to admit that it's kind of fun. New friends, new experiences, and... well, lots of new and different things that I had no idea I enjoyed.

Philippians 1:9-10
And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless until the day of Christ.

Good night, all.

(Oh, and to the anonymous deliverer of the rubber chicken this afternoon, that just about made me faint from not being able to catch my breath from laughing so hard. Very funny! You must have a house full of boys yourself)!!! It's so nice to have demented friends who constantly make me feel like I'm a little bit normal!