Try to Argue with 4 Year Old Logic…

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My 4 year old twins are hysterical. The stuff they come up with makes me laugh so hard, it hurts. One reason I became a teacher for the elementary grades is because the younger students are (mostly) innocent and look at the world from a different perspective. The way they try to make sense of things is so beautiful and they often have a logic that would make Mr. Spock (R.I.P.!) crack a smile.

Last night, the kids went to bed a little late. The husband and I were pretty tired and just ready for them to sleep. Andy has a cold and REFUSES to use tissues (gag) and his eyeballs were the size of basketballs. He NEEDED to sleep. We told them they needed to be quiet. No talking. Just go to sleep.

We weren’t downstairs for more than 3.5 minutes when we heard thumping, and giggling, and loud talking. The Twinion Conspirators are at it again.

“Wuke, I am you fodder!”

“Noooooooo, don’t cut my hand off, fodder! AHHHHHHH!”

“I have to! It was in da movie.”

“Nooooooooooo!”

I race upstairs, and open the door. They do that thing that must be instinctual for little kids where they flop down on the bed and instantly play dead, like I didn’t see them just jumping around like loons.

“Boys, didn’t we say you needed to be quiet? Tyler, Andy is sick, he needs rest. You are so loud, we can’t even hear the TV!”

Andy won’t stop giggling, probably from the Zyrtec and Nighttime Dr. Cocoa medicine combo.

Tyler looks at me, dead serious: “Mommy, you said we couldn’t talk, but our toys need to, so that’s why we’re talking so wowd. They need to play, not us!”

I’m dumbfounded and impressed. He was right, we didn’t say the toys couldn’t talk.

“Um, ok, well can Luke and Darth Vader keep it down?”

More Andy giggles.

Tyler sighs a deep, why-do-I-put-up-with-her? sigh and says: “We will try, my princess mommy. Dark Vader IS evil you know, and wikes to get us in trouble.”

I wish I were a celebrity so camera crews could follow these two around and capture all of these moments. Then I would make a documentary and show it to every girlfriend.

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Things My Kids Hate #1: TV Breaks

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My kids have a really hard time understanding why they have to watch commercials sometimes.  I try to ‘splain the difference between watching something on cable versus the PS3 where we have Netflix and Amazon.  I tell them one is “cable box” and the other the “movie box” and sometimes I walk up to both (while giving a fantastic Vanna White impression) to point and explain again which has commercials, but they don’t get it.

We watched Ratatouille the other night on the PS3 – no commercials. This morning I found it on cable tv. Everything was right with the world until a commercial came on.

Twin B, the smaller one with an internal rage meter set to kill, asks disgustedly (for the 117th time):Doh, what’s dat fing?

Me: It’s a commercial, B.

Twin B: Well, what’s a mershel and why I gotta watch it?

Me: COMmercial, and I told you a hundred times. Sometimes the TV show needs a break so they show these little shows to get you excited about toys and Snackeez that you need to have immediately.

Twin A breaks in: Yeah, I need that fing! (points to a LEGO WCW ring)

Twin B: I don’t wanna watch the mershel. Make it stop. Radatoy don’t need a bweak.

Me: I can’t stop it. I have no control over what the TV does. And A, you’ll have to ask Santa for that.

Twin B: WAST night there weren’t no mershels when we watched da Radatoy.

Twin A: SANTA IS COMING??? NOW????

Me: Right, because we watched it on the (jumps up to Vanna point) movie box. And NO, Santa is not coming for a long time.

Twin B: Well, you can go get it on da movie box then.

Twin A: mumbles about Santa not coming

Me: Um, no, it’s almost time for school, and…(the screaming begins)

Twin B: I AM SO ANGRY!!! I HATE MERSHELS, THEY MAKE ME  SO MAD!!! (screams, stomps, throws Blankie in the air like he just don’t care)

He then picks up his cereal bowl and yells: I’M GONNA FWOW MY FWOOTY PETALS AT THE TV! I’M GONNA DO IT WIGHT NOW! (looks to make sure he has my attention). I’M GONNA DOOOOOOO IIIIIIT!!!

I jump up: Oh, you better not throw those Fwooty, er, FRUITY Pebbles anywhere, Mister!!

Twin A, who had his glorious shining “WTF hour of power” last night, came to the rescue: Well, Twin B, it’s ok, wook! The mershels over, see? We can watch Rata-too-ee again!

Twin B looks up, Ratatouille is back on, the sun came out, the angels sang, and his little 4 year old, 28 pound body returned to its pre-Hulk status. All was right with the world. For now.

Thank you, Twin A.

I hid in a closet waiting for the next mershel meltdown.

 

Sharktopus vs. Mermantula, Coming Soon

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I am so excited about Sharktopus vs. Mermantula, I can hardly wait.

I keep calling it Shartopuss or Sharktopolis, but that’s because I’m me, and words don’t come out right sometimes. It’s my brain’s way of saying it’s smarter than me.

I still occasionally say: cup-o-my-chino instead of cappuccino, but I blame that on my unsophisticated upbringing in a town where cows mooed at us during football games.

(Ok, it wasn’t that bad, it was called “Champion Township” after all.

Back to the important stuff. The movie. I was hoping that THIS time, Sharktopus will feature Oscar-worthy performers such as Ron Perlman, Zach Galifanakis, or Tila Tequila. Instead, it is starring the very pretty Casper Van Dien and equally stunning Catherine Oxenberg.

I called my mom to tell her the good news, and at first she didn’t believe me. She said she would pay to see ANYTHING by that title.

We then got into a texting war over new titles of SciFi “Original” movies.  Ok, technically, they are original, but pairing two unlikely creatures together constantly starts becoming unoriginal.

We have come up with the following hybrids thus far:

1. Skunkaroo

2. Porcubat

3. Flaminger (Flamingo-tiger, name’s a work in progress)

4. Mockingbear

5. Doberdingo

6. Elephin (Elephant-dolphin, work with me, here)

7. Scorpig

and finally,

8. Manigator

While I cannot reveal to you the contents of some of the texts between my mother and I, for her privacy, hilarity ensued when we substituted Ron Perlman for Ron Jeremy when coming up with new names.

Scary movies and Fish gang killers

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You know how in a scary movie someone always investigates a weird noise?  In my house it’s usually me saying: “I wouldn’t do that. Why is she doing that, don’t they watch scary movies?  They have to know it’s all bad, right? WHY IS SHE GOING DOWN THERE?”  Then my husband shoves a Cheeto in my mouth and we carry on.

Or when someone in the movies puts their hand down into the garbage disposal (because those things ALWAYS get stuck/break/eat a diamond ring) and starts rooting around.  How many muscles clench that you didn’t even know you had watching that scene?  My knees instantly draw up inside my nostrils and I’m saying: “Oh my God, don’t stick your hand in there. Why is she sticking her hand in there? Oh, this is going to be all bad.”  Pop goes another Cheeto.

I promise I’m not that annoying during shows. I swear it.  Shut up, I’m not.

Anyway, I get all uber-annoyed that these people are doing things that are obviously going to get them maimed, eaten, killed, tortured, kidnapped, or impregnated by a vegetable.  Then I realized I do these things, too. Occasionally, I hear a noise and I go investigate.  It wouldn’t occur to me that I’m going to die.  It also wouldn’t occur to me to think: “Hmm, that sounded like a rabid raccoon is trying to eat my children, I think I might have some Fritos,” and not investigate.  Same with the disposal.  I HAVE to look, although I admit, it skeeves me out to stick my hand in there. I was young when I saw “The Blob”.

Mr. Who is always the one who gets up to check and I’m grateful. I remember a conversation a long time ago with a friend of mine named Tom.  He asked why men are always expected to get up and check instead of the women.  I surmised it was because they are usually stronger and the protector of the family.  His reply: “No, Carrie, it’s because if they don’t, their wife will tell everyone what a coward he was that he made her go investigate a stupid animal when she had a little cold.”  Dude, she had pneumonia, and it was a BEAR.

Last night we had an episode such as this to a lesser proportion.  Mr. Who and I were half-asleep, I was snuggled up on his chest finally in that one position where my neck wasn’t at an angle that made it easy for a vampire to tie a bib on and go to town, and suddenly we heard a weird thumping noise.  We laughed thinking it was our ceiling fan which always seems to make the most godawful racket right when we’re falling asleep.  It stops. We drift. We hear it again, louder.  More thumping. I’m thinking, yeah, I’m not getting up to see what that is.

More thumping and splashing. Ahh, not the fan, it’s the fish.

Mr. Who says they were probably just playing, having fun, Fight Club, whatever they do. More thumping, splashing. Silence long enough for me to relax. Then more damn thumping.

I whisper to Mr. Who: “You’re dying to get up and see what that is aren’t you?”

“Oh my God, yes!” he says and jumps up.  He tries to see what’s going on in the tank but doesn’t want to turn the lights on to scare them. We still hear something. He finally turns on the light and goes to the side of the tank and says: “Ahh!” kind of sadly.  “What is it?” I ask.

“One of the Danios is on the floor.”

“What?! How did a fish get out of the tank?” This reminds me of the first algae eater we never found.

Mr. Who’s looking for a net, “That must have been what we heard, the other fish were pushing him out.”

Seriously? The top of the tank has a glass cover, then a wooden cover.  For that fish to get out, either the mob gang really wanted to off this poor little guy, or he was so afraid for his life that he pushed himself out to escape.  I get it, if this situation were reversed and I were about to be beaten and eaten by five or six people, I might jump in water and drown myself, too.

The fish was still flopping and Mr. Who tried to put it back in the tank, but it was obvious that he probably wasn’t going to make it. So he was given a porcelain funeral. I’m so glad Mr. Who got up to check because one of two things would have happened if he hadn’t:

1. Danny would have flopped all the way into the middle of the floor and I would have stepped on him on my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night and there are no words for the sound of THAT scream.

2. Twin A would have found it by the fish tank and would have eaten half of it and came up to me with the other half saying: “Wan’ dis? Mama, wan’ dis?”

I would be fine with #2, fish is good for kids.

I really don’t want an alien baby…

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Not much time to write, the kids will wake up soon, and they have been…well, two…lately.  If I make it to three with most of my hair and a shred of sanity left I will declare myself the winner.   Some days I feel like I’ve lost all but one or two of my brain cells, and luckily the ones left tell me what my name is, where the kids’ food and diapers are, and where I hid the wine coolers.

Thank goodness for my fifteen year old.  It’s nice to talk to someone who I can mostly understand.  Someone I can be snarky to and will understand it.  Someone I can say “no” to and won’t fall on the floor in a fit of hysterics, screaming and rolling around, with big, fat tears rolling down his face.  Someone who won’t tell me I have to sit in a certain spot and watch him eat, or sit on my left butt cheek on the chair because for some reason the earth will end if I lean too far to the right butt cheek.

It’s nice.

He asked today why Native Americans were usually portrayed as the bad guys in movies.  He watched “Last of the Mohicans”…spoiler alert…lots of scalping and I ALWAYS cry when the girl jumps over the cliff at the end…and is now on to “Dances with Wolves”; he goes through movie moods and like to watch a certain genre for a time, then goes back to “Spaceballs” to cleanse himself.

I thought it was a good question.  He probed further. “Why are Native Americans portrayed as bad guys, Mom?  I mean, what were they supposed to do? Do the Macarena and say, ‘Well, hello there! I would LOVE for you to come and take my land away and kill my people! Yee-HAW!'”

I love him.  It made me laugh and think.  It’s true, though.  Who would do that? Have you ever seen an alien invasion movie where we gladly surrender earth?  Where we jump eagerly in line to become food?  Where we willingly allow ourselves to be hosts for some unknown alien baby?  I don’t think so.

If you have seen a movie like that, I beg you to give me that title, because it’s probably awesome.

B, C, and D movies…

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My husband and I like to watch a lot of horror and suspense movies.  Lots and lots of them.  I am more of a supernatural/alien/creepy movie lover, and while he likes those, he also likes the Saw/Hostel/Kill for No Good Reason movies.  I get the heebs when I watch movies that can actually happen.  I mean, Texas Chainsaw Massacre was a documentary, right?

Our first date was spent watching some B movies. I thought it was a date thing, but as I got to know him, I found that he likes movies. He likes them so much he subscribes to Blockbuster online.  He signs up for movies I had never even heard of, like: “Reeker” about a stinky murderous creature and “One Eyed Monster” a legitimate R rated movie starring Ron Jeremy about, well, just look it up, and it was actually funny.  I remember tentatively asking him: “Honey, do you ever watch movies that didn’t go directly to DVD?”

I admit, though, I got into it. He is so much fun.  How can you not love a guy who has a movie called “Buttcrack” in his repertoire? Some of the movies, even though they are B, C, D, and possibly, F movies, are so gross, I got nauseous watching a few.  Although he didn’t like it when I started looking up movies online to see what they were about first, I had to know what I was in for, and if I read something that was too disgusting, it got vetoed and he had to watch it when I wasn’t around.

We have two specific movies that are our “bar setters”.  They are so bad they were entertaining. After we watch a movie we can grade it by saying: “Well, it was better than Zombie Strippers!”  or perhaps it might receive a:” That was worse than Trailer Park of Terror!”

Sometimes we find some gems in those B, C, and D movies, but it’s pretty rare.  When we see people who used to be famous like C. Thomas Howell, Corbin Bernsen, Dean Cain, and pretty much anything with Ron Perlman in it (except for Hellboy movies) we know they are going to be doozies.

And don’t even get me started on SyFy movies.  The graphics and CGI on those are so bad, I’m pretty sure my 2 year olds are on staff.  We watched “Megashark vs. Crocosaurus” not too long ago, and the editing was so bad, that at one point four characters were on a boat in one scene, then were instantly on a beach being eaten in the next.  The best part about that movie was Urkel was in it, all buff, and my husband kept saying “did I do that?” throughout the movie.

We watched “Open Water” about two years ago, and that movie creeped me out. Nothing like watching a two-hour long death scene about to happen. “Open Water 2: Adrift” was on IFC a week ago, so we decided to watch it. Now I have a strict rule about not watching anything that hasn’t been DVR’d, because I have no patience for sitting through commercials, but we didn’t have anything to do that day.  We had paused it a bunch of times, so it took about 5 hours to watch it, and it wasn’t bad, but the ending was a “Whaaaaa?” moment.  I HATE ambiguous endings on C and D movies…you are not allowed to do that. You cannot take me through a “based on real events” movie only to give me a “um, were they dead? was she a ghost? what just happened?” at the end.  That makes me HULK ANGRY.

Since we’ve had the twins, there have been a lot of movies we pop in at 9:30 and we (and by we, I mean me) are snoring by 10:00.  I can’t tell you how many halfway watched movies we have.  If they don’t hold our interest we don’t even bother.  That must be why I only made it through about 20 minutes of “Gone in 60 Seconds” last night before I was allegedly doing the jelly neck roll on the couch.  I told my darling that I was just doing my neck exercises with my eyes closed, but something tells me he didn’t believe me.

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