I’m Leaving on a Train Car…

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I want to start off by saying I love my kids.

I do, I do, I do.

But they drive me CRAZY!!!!

I know I’m not alone in this. I’m pretty positive every single parent, at one time or another, has envisioned running away from home holding a plaid knapsack on a stick containing a few PB&J’s while whistling a merry tune as you find a nice train car to jump into and go far, far away.

Or do what I do and hide in a corner, suck on a thumb and rock myself.

I was a teacher. I took child psychology classes, learning development classes, I knew all the stages of anal, oral, and whatever else Freud liked to talk about, so you would think when my child is freaking out about something I would remember it was normal.

It’s so hard to remember that when they are screaming at the top of their high pitched lungs and telling you they hate you because their apple isn’t as red as their brothers.

(That was last night)

My oldest is 18 and is easy at this point, but he still has no idea how to clean up after himself. He can create mods on his computer games, and defeat any enemy he wants, but the concept of bringing dirty dishes to the sink escapes him.

My 5 year olds, well, they are another story. Every minute is full of wonder, such as: “I wonder who is going to have a meltdown next?”

The Terrible Twos and Threes are nothing compared to the Terrible Fives.  I find myself correcting more during the day than cuddling, and constantly trying to see into the future to know what may or may not cause a tantrum.

Eggshells. Lots and lots of eggshells.

One of the twins said they hated me last night because I wouldn’t give them a sucker with their dinner. I have never given them a sucker with dinner, but they decided it was to be, and when I nicely refused, it caused a serious row and I was flabbergasted. I’m often flabbergasted.

One of the twins has a broken arm and decided he wanted to wear long sleeved pajamas to bed. I said that wasn’t a good idea because a) the cast doesn’t fit into the arm easily, and b) it was 85 DEGREES.

Well, that made him more determined to prove that I was wrong and he proceeded to fit that cast into the sleeve one millimeter at a time. He was getting red faced and mad and kicking and screaming, and it took him 10 minutes to put on the shirt while I watched, defeated.

But he showed me.

They also like to lie, now, which is awesome. I will say: “No, we are not going to the McDonald’s play area, it’s 9PM!” and they will say: “You’re mean. You said I’m a stupid boy and you hate me!”

WHAT?? NO I DIDN’T! “Yes, you did, you said you don’t love me any more and that I’m just a stupid head.”

<facepalm>

I’m exhausted from all the work my brain has to do to deal with them sometimes. Yelling doesn’t do anything but make everyone more frenzied, but sometimes being calm makes them think their behavior is ok. Forcing them to say they’re sorry when they aren’t, or don’t even understand why they should be sorry, is difficult, as does knowing which battle to fight or give up on.

Every generation goes through this, and I think it’s because we aren’t given enough insight into what children go through in their little brains. They are testing the waters, seeing what they can do, not realizing they are slowly sending their parents into mental zombie land.

There should be a pamphlet that is sent to us on their birthdays so we know what we’re in for the next year. Things like: “Five year olds often have no clue what the heck they really want, and reverse psychology works amazingly well at this age. They will also think they need everything they see on every commercial, especially the “As Seen on TV” ones.” (Thanks, Snackeez)

I also think there should be hotlines for each year of age and when the kids start going nutso, we can call the 1-800-5yrolds for advice.

Operator: “Hello, this is the 5 year old hotline, how can I help you?”

Me: “Um, hi there, my 5 year old won’t come downstairs because I refuse to carry his blankie for him.”

Operator: “Do you have a plaid knapsack on a stick?”

Me: “Why, yes I do.”

Operator: “Fill it up with sandwiches and find yourself a train car.”

 

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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.

IMG_0321 (3)

 

Things My Kids Misinterpret # 2 – 8

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So I asked Twin A for giggles where babies come from.

A: Well, they come from beds. And sometimes dorks.

(He’s not wrong).

——————

Teen Who was playing “Gangnam Style” the other day, and now Twin A will randomly burst into: “OTA Gunner Stah!” and do the Ota Gunner Stah dance.

——————

Twin B: Mommy, my cup is dirty, can you put it inna worshang masheem?

——————

I have a popcorn masheem, er, machine in my kitchen. The kids cannot say “popcorn”, it’s always: “pawcones”, which is what Mr. Who calls it now, too.

——————-Pawcone Masheem

Back in the day, the kids pronounce the “ed” at the words, saying “it” which was neverendingly hysterical, such as: “I poopit”, “That stinkit”,  which is another thing that Mr. Who says now.

——————-

Currently, they add “t” to words that end in “n”, and we cannot figure out why, for example: “I’m gonna wint!” or “Look at that mant”.

——————-

It’s funnier, too when they correct each other, incorrectly.

B: It’s Capin Amerita!

A: It’s not Amerita, it’s Mare-ca.

B: That’s what I said!

Got Twins? Want Mine?

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Not permanently, of course, and I’ll probably have to come along. The umbilical cord is still attached to them and it is very short.

So very short.

So they always say with twins: “Twice the hugs, kisses, and love”. This is undoubtedly true, and there really is nothing cuter than having two little boys sit on your lap while you’re watching the Godzilla Animated Series from the early 80’s.

*It’s on Netflix, and it’s hysterical. One minute Godzuki is two times the size of a person, then the next scene he’s 18,000 times the size. Sometimes the only thing that’s happening in a scene is Godzilla growling with his eyes drawn funny and waving his arms around like E.T. running from Eliot’s room.*

But with two 3 year olds comes great responsibility. The caring, feeding, wiping, watering, and entertaining of two children BOTH having the terrible two’s, three’s, four’s, and possibly a teen rebellion at the same time.

Both are going through the exact same developmental stages, both are in the grunting caveman “me me me” phase, and both always want what the other has, even if they are holding the SAME DAMN THING IN THEIR HANDS.

For example, they both have an Elmo blankie. They are identical. You cannot tell them apart, yet one twin will grab one and say: “I got yo blankie, A!” Twin A comes screeching around the corner demanding sobbily that he wants HIS blankie back, even though he’s HOLDING ONE ALREADY! What I do is rip both of the blankies out of their hands and throw them up in the air a few times like a magician and then toss one to each so they don’t know which was which.

I will tell them it’s time for a diaper change (yes, I know they are 3.5 years old and not potty trained yet, I’m working on it) and one will run over to the window seat where I change them (awesome view of the street there) and yell: “B, I’m on yo bench!” Twin B will decide HE needs his diaper changed RIGHT NOW, even though I’ve already asked them to come a bazillion times.

Speaking of diapers, they usually only want me to change them. Not sure if I put the powder on with extra finesse or what, but whenever Daddy is home, he has to almost beg to let him change their diaper. Mind you, he doesn’t beg too hard, but he makes an attempt. Sometimes he will just raise his arms in defeat and sigh: “Well, CarrieLou, I tried real hard, but you just change the diapers sooooo much better”…whatever, Mr. Who, I’ve got your number.

It’s really awesome when they have what I KNOW is going to be the grossest thing I’ve seen to date and they say: “NOOOOO MOMMY DO IT!” Thanks guys, like I haven’t already changed your nasty butts 11 hundred times today.

The kicker is that they are usually calm, sweet, and patient with other people who watch them. Not sure if Mr. Who is totally telling the truth, but when I leave, they are supposedly fine for him. Grandparents say they are really good, too. But as soon as I walk in the door, it’s like everything they’ve been storing up comes pouring out of every orifice, and their behavior completely changes.

I must have some super secret powers that causes complete meltdowns. I’ll be sure not to go near any nuclear power plants.

I love the little peanuts, though, and like any relationship, when things are good, they are really, really good.

But when things are bad? I’m gonna say it…thank God for Godzilla.

(and Chocovino).

Who Plans for Twins?

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Not me, said the Lou.

This picture was sent to me and I admit, I laughed a lot:

haha

I’m not sure why this picture is a parenting fail, honestly.  I don’t know a whole lot of people that plan on having twins. Those using IVF, fertility drugs, or have twins run in their family know it’s a possibility, but until you see two little beans on the monitor, you can’t plan.

Mr. Who and I were not planning on twins.  The thought never crossed our Who minds. There are no twins on either side of the family, and I was not on anything to help me have children. Mr. Who’s neighbor growing up was a twin, and they were very close, maybe it rubbed off?

Mr. Who and I were hoping to have one girl together. One. Girl.

After a few weeks of marriage, the stick was positive, and when I was about 10 weeks, the doctor decided to check it out.

Side note: *Mr. Who picked the doctor because her husband played for the Cleveland Browns a long time ago*  I’m not kidding.

We go to the appointment, all excited and nervous. I had 12 year old Boy Who at the time, and Mr. Who had not yet had the pleasure of having a child, so this was an extra special fun time.

Baby Doc checks me over, and thinks I might be farther along than I think, so I’m taken down to the ultrasound room.

There I am getting all ultrasounded, facing the back of the screen, while Mr. Who is grinning like crazy looking at the murky black and whiteness that are my insides. Suddenly he makes a strange face, leans forward a bit towards the monitor, cocks his head slightly, and then squints. Before I can question it, Baby Doc says those heart stopping/nausea inducing words:

“Ohhhhh, there’s TWO!”

I start laughing because that’s insane, and I said: “That’s not funny, you’re joking right?”

Baby Doc: “I don’t joke.”

*She wasn’t lying*

Mr. Who gets a big grin on his face. The poor, naive fool.

I instantly burst into tears and wail: “WE’RE NEVER GONNA FIND A BABYSITTER!”

Mr. Who looks down at me, still grinning and says: “You’re gonna be HUGE!”

*more tears and wails*

It was decided that my advanced maternal age of 37 was the culprit for the random extra child.  Darn advanced maternal ageness. We later found out after the amnio that we were having two boys.

We planned on one girl, and got two boys.

What kinda crap math is that?

After the announcement, the only thing I was planning on, was getting big, and eventually going crazy.

I got really, really big. Like comically big.

Still crazy.

Oh Sh*t!!!

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Thanks to my three year olds, everyone in the tri-state area and their preschool, knows that someone in my house swears. No big deal, right? It’s a normal reaction to stressful situations. Due to my cat-like grace and prowess I rarely hurt myself, but I have been known to simultaneously drop a can of tomato sauce on my foot, stand up in pain and bang my head on the cupboard door, and trip over the pattern in the floor while reeling from the head injury.

Ok, that happens ALL the time, but if that doesn’t qualify for swearing at least once, I don’t know what does.

The Who Twins’ little Who brains are extremely absorbent right now. Selectively absorbent, unfortunately.  They cannot seem to remember things like: mauling your brother is not nice, marshmallows are not breakfast food, where their sippy cups are (usually right next to them), or where to find Captain America’s head after ripping it off the umpteenth time.

But oh, do they remember the BAD words.

“Sh*t” is apparently my go-to word.  My twenty years (ok, zero) of ballerina training has not helped me in the depth-perception, walking in a straight line, or seeing any sort of object in front of me department.  Seriously, I’m a Klutzy McKluzterson, and I would fail any sobriety test out in the middle of the highway completely sober.  So I say my bad word quite often.

And I think really loud.

Mr. Who used to reach out for me in concern a long time ago, and ask ” Sweetie, are you ok? Are you hurt?” Now, after 5 1/2 years it’s more like: “What did you do, NOW?”

So, the Twin Whos were born with Swear Word Hearing of Bionic Man proportions and have now figured out that “Sh*t!” is an awesome word to say over and over and over again. And they say it with a smirky, gleeful ornery look on their face. It’s like they just know I don’t feel right getting upset since THEY LEARNED IT FROM ME!

This happened last night over the baby monitor.

Twin A: MOM! Twin B said sh*t! He said sh*t mom! Twin B said sh*t!

Me: A, you just said it 3 times!

Twin A: MOOOOOOOOOOOOM, B said it again! He said sh*t, sh*t, sh*t!

Me: A, stop saying it! You’ve said more than he has!

Twin A: You need to yell at him!

Me: B, don’t say that word, honey, it’s not a nice word.

Twin B: Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t.

Me: B!!! Stop it or I’m gonna come up there!

Twin B: (quietly) Ok, you come up here.

Me: Sh*t, he called my bluff.

Teenage Who thinks it’s the most hysterical thing when the Twins swear, and I’m pretty sure he encourages it when I’m not around.  Mr. Who and I pretend to not hear it, because you know how kids are: the more you pay attention to something negative the more they do it. Sometimes we’re trying so hard not to laugh that we’re almost drawing tongue blood.

My only consolation is that they use “sh*t” in context.

Context is key.

American Ninja Warrior – Toddler Edition

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So Mr. Who and I went on a romantic weekend vacation for our 4th wedding anniversary.  We stayed at a beautiful cabin in Amish country that came equipped with a hot tub, Direct TV, and the owners’ (who lived right next door) two Chihuahuas that liked to sleep on our porch. It was tranquil, quiet, smelled a little of animal poop, but very relaxing nonetheless.

We decided to bring movies with us and shared some lovely moments watching chick flicks: Evil Dead, Dark Skies, and Silent Hill Revelation. Saturday evening, just when we thought things couldn’t possibly get more romantic, we came across American Ninja Warrior on TV.  If you have never seen this, it’s like American Gladiators but without the greased up biceps, sparring, and Hulk Hogan.

The goal was for each person to work their way through – and finish – a gauntlet filled with strength and endurance challenges.  These challenges included things like: running up a wall, spider walking 30 feet up a small enclosed glass tunnel, and doing that lift to the next hole thing with the metal bar that Oliver Queen does on “Arrow”.  You know, things everyone should be able to do in a moment’s notice.

So while that’s impressive and all, Burly Twin A could probably do all of that and more.  At 3 years old, he is already (to my HORROR) jumping off the top of the sliding board to the ground, climbing trees, and instead of sitting  on the two person glider, Twin A uses the handles as foot pedals.  At preschool, he climbs the rock wall boulder thing they have and goes to the very top to stand and observe his minion toddler friends.  (I’m working on getting him to say: “I’m king of the world!”)

So after watching him in action, I think I would definitely pay to see a bunch of 3-5 year olds running through these challenges.  There’s really no training involved; kids figure a lot of things out on their own, and usually NOT the way you want them to do it.  You could also incorporate chores into it. Make them run across the yard to pick up sticks, water the plants, pick weeds, and sing: “The Itsy Bitsy Spider” at the top of their lungs.  To make the challenge even harder, they have to do them using their indoor voices and are not allowed to ask “why?” for 10 minutes.

To make it easier, American Toddler Warrior wouldn’t even have to be physically challenging.

A more realistic set of challenges would probably go like this:

1. Put your socks on correctly.

2. Go find your shoes.

2a. Not your juice, your shoes.

2b. Get your finger out of your nose and go get your shoes!

3.  Now go find your blankie.

3a. Hey, what are you doing? It’s not time to watch Yo Gabba Gabba!  It’s time to be a NINJA!

4. Put your toys away.

4a. Do not hit your brother.

4b. Tell him you’re sorry.

4c. No, you can’t tell him you’re sorry, then hit him again!

5. Now eat your lunch.

5a. No, you cannot have an oatmeal pie until you eat your lunch.

5b. Come on, just eat the sandwich. Why are you crying?

5c. Ok, here’s the oatmeal pie already. Now eat your lunch.

5d. What do you mean you’re FULL?

Twin A would probably win the above challenges, though, he does those things pretty well.  He would be so excited to be named a Ninja, no prize money would be necessary.  He would probably settle for five Oreos and someone to find the missing head from his Captain America figure.

It’s headless because he bit it off with his bare teeth. ROAR!

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