Notes on Chaos Elves

I RALLY.

Fly on the Wall Today I’m a part of the Fly on the Wall group post with 14 other wonderbloggers where we show you a glimpse of what it would be like to be a fly on the wall in our home. It won’t surprise you that I’m a “writes at the last minute” type person. This works for me. Unless I come down with a stomach flu. I tried. I really did. I kept my laptop by my bed all night hoping I’d feel better and come up with something. Alas, I’m struggling to even sit up and type this. I’m not going to back down, though!

I’m going to rally!

Well, sort of. I’m going to recycle a Fly on the Wall from a few months ago. It’s still totally relevant and enjoyable. A lot of you haven’t seen it so it won’t make a hair’s difference. Some of you have. If you’re shaking your fist and saying, “dammit, I wanted something clever from Beth today! Something new and funny!” I can only pet your head and offer you this Lollipop. << go on. Press it. All your cares will fall away and we’ll be besties again. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a porcelain throne to hug.

Don’t forget to check out my fellow Fly-ers and read their greatness. Their links are at the bottom of this post.

*A FLY ON THE WALL – TELIHO STYLE*

mating-flies-15885625

Yes. They’re humping.

The actual conversation (if it indeed qualifies as such) that occurred on the way to school. Myself and my two boys. To makes things easier (and protect the obnoxious), I’ll use their nicknames, D-man (9yo) and Cheesy (6yo):

D-Man: I HATE school. I can’t believe I have to go back to that awful place. I HATE third grade.

ME: I know it’s tough, buddy, but you can do it. Just hang in there. Things will seem bet–

D-Man: –I talked to this older kid and he said he hated third grade the most. He said it sucked out of all the grades.

ME: What older kid?

Cheesy: Do rabbits have penises?

ME: What? Wait, D, what older kid did you talk to? How old?

D-Man: Thirteen.

ME: Where on Earth are you talking to thirteen year olds?

Cheesy: MOM! Do rabbits have penises?

D-man: On Xbox. Hey, did I tell you my dream about the robot?

ME: Yes!

D-man: I already told you about my dream?

ME: No. Rabbits have penises.

Cheesy: And balls? *lots of giggles from the back seat*

ME: *sigh* Yes, if they are boys.

D-Man: So this giant robot made of Minecraft brick comes crashing out of the ocean….

Cheesy: Does Milo have balls? (our dog)

ME: Well, uh, he did. I mean, yeah. But he’s neutered. *immediate regret* rewind rewind rewind

D-Man: ….and then he twirls this snowman monster thing over his head….

Cheesy: He’s noonered! What does THAT mean?!

ME: It’s an operation dogs have so they can’t make puppies. please Lord get me out of this

D-Man: …..smashes this grey pile of ash that sprays up and blows the robot’s head off……

Cheesy: I thought only girls made babies?

ME: Cheesy, I can’t do the birds and the bees right now. Let’s tal—

Cheesy: BEES HAVE PENISES TOO?!?!

mating-flies-15885625

I’m home alone about 10AM. Kids are in school. Hubs calls.

ME: Yes? How may I help you?

HIM: Whatareyoudoing?

ME: On the computer. Whatareyoudoing?

HIM: I called to give you a couple reminders.

ME: Great. You know how much I like that.

HIM: I thought you might. I need you to be sure and take the ipad mini back today and see if they can replace it. The boys can’t be playing on it with that crack in the screen.

ME: Uh-huh.

HIM: And it would be great if you returned that hat to the party store before someone ruins it.

ME: Yep. That would be great.

HIM: And while you’re out, you should take your car to that place I told you about and get the oil changed because they’ll also wash it for you and your car is disgusting.

ME: My car is fine.

HIM: Your car is awful, Beth. Are you going to do any of those things?

ME: I will only commit to putting them on my list.

HIM: Your list.

ME: Yup.

HIM: And you’re going to put oil change on your list?

ME: Probably not.

HIM: Why? I don’t understand what the problem is…

ME: You know I hate going to the oil change place. I designated that a man job long ago.

HIM:

ME: I find it very sexy when you do man jobs.

HIM: Reeeealllly. Well, now we’re talkin’. (I can actually hear him smiling)

ME: *eye roll* it’s so damn easy

mating-flies-15885625

It’s past bedtime. The 6yo comes downstairs with what appears to be glitter and a piece of paper and approaches me at the couch. I’m limp with fatigue, and no longer care if anyone is in jammies or has brushed their teeth. I have deferred to daddy and am attempting to escape reality by engrossing myself in Twitter and Facebook a book on orbital mechanics. Yet here is a child in my face with craft supplies.

6yo: Mommy. Mommy. You know that thing where you put glitter on the paper and shake it off and it makes dots?

ME: Uh-huh.

6yo: Can we do that?

ME: Absolutely not.

6yo: Whhhhhhyyyyyyyyyy?????

ME: What do you mean why? You’re supposed to be in bed, young man. It’s late. And we don’t even have glue.

6yo: Yes we do. *disappears around corner*

He’s out of sight, therefore, officially out of my mind. This is a bad thing, because approximately 11 minutes later, Dad calls from upstairs wondering where the 6yo is. It’s about this time that I realize glitter boy is sweeping the kitchen.

You’re smart people. You know my child spilled glitter everywhere. But what I need to explain to you is this was not ordinary glitter. This was *special* fine-as-powder-fairy-dust glitter that I bought for a specific teacher craft last year, WHICH IS WHY IT WAS HIDDEN UPSTAIRS IN MY OFFICE WHERE HE GOT IT, THE LITTLE BURGLAR. You can’t even tell any is missing from the vial, yet it is every-fricken-where. No, really. You don’t understand. I can’t envision a scenario where this glitter will not be a part of our house for the rest of our lives.

*******

Check out these other awesome posts!

  Baking In A Tornado

Just a Little Nutty

  Follow me home . . .

 The Sadder But Wiser Girl

 Menopausal Mother

 The Momisodes

 Spatulas on Parade

 The Rowdy Baker

 Sorry kid, Your Mom Doesn’t Play Well With Others

Juicebox Confession

  Dates 2 Diapers

Kiss My List

 Moms Don’t Say That

Adventure into Domesticland

I Wish I Blogged When My Boobs Were Exploding

My first baby was born over nine years ago. I can’t quite believe I just wrote that. Seems like yesterday his tiny, squirmy body was placed in my arms and now he’s almost as tall as me. YOWZA! But aside from the happy memories of bringing a healthy baby home, and the absolute wonder of it all (I fucking did that? I made a human? ME?), you wanna know what I remember from that time?

fear-panic-isolation-anxiety-frustration-angst-depression-anger. all at once.

Why? Because I didn’t know what the hell I was doing and I didn’t have any other friends who’d been through it yet. Oh I had acquaintances, but not close friends. I had books that pretended to prepare me, but not buddies who’d been there. I had no advice, no one making me laugh through the trials of breast feeding, no one telling me to hang in there, it just gets worse the hard part’s almost over. You know what I was missing?

THE BLOGOSPHERE.

I’m new around here, but as I’m reading all these HILARIOUS, AMAZING mommy bloggers I can’t help but feel a little pang of resentment that I didn’t have this resource when I was leaking milk and sneeze-peeing my way through sleepless nights. I would have taken anyone – ANYTHING – if it just felt like solidarity. If it just made me laugh or feel like I wasn’t insane. More than normal, anyway.

I’m reading The Mother Of All Meltdowns right now and OH if I had only had this book then! It’s SO funny! No one asked me to review it, trust me, this is all on me, but reading it is partly what inspired this post so I had to give it its due mention. If you don’t have it yet – do yourself a favor. And then follow all the authors because their blogs are GENIUS.

Okay, so maybe I didn’t have the insight and wisdom of other mommies when I was post-partum, or having to PUMP ALL MY MILK CUZ HE HAD A SUCKING PROBLEM WHAT THE HELL, through the potty training years (which just happened like a week ago BECAUSE I HAVE BOYS AND THEY DON’T CARE IF THEY SIT IN THEIR OWN FECES ALL DAY), or the tantrums, or losing naptime, or….or…breathe Elizabeth, breathe.

I do have it now, though. And now it’s going to help me with my third baby: my novel. They say the Universe has a way of making all things even. I believe that, utterly and completely. The Yin and the Yang. Karma. All that stuff. Balance Baby. Yeah. Can you hear the drums? Can you smell the weed sage? Kumbafrickinya….sing it with me…..

 

How about you? Did/does the bloggy world give you support during challenging times? I LOVE your comments!

Fly’s In The Buttermilk, Do Not Shoo! Fly On The Wall!

WELCOME to a Fly on the Wall group post! Today 14 bloggers are inviting you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes.

Fly on the Wall

Come on in and buzz around my house (SCROLL DOWN), see what you think, then click on these links for a peek into some other homes:

Baking In A Tornado
Just a Little Nutty
Follow me home . . .
Stacy Sews and Schools
The Sadder But Wiser Girl
Menopausal Mother
Moore Organized Mayhem
The Insomniac’s Dream
The Momisodes
Spatulas on Parade
Searching for Sanity
The Rowdy Baker
Writer B is Me
Sorry kid, Your Mom Doesn’t Play Well With Others

*A FLY ON THE WALL – TELIHO STYLE*

mating-flies-15885625

The actual conversation (if it indeed qualifies as such) that occurred this morning on the way to school. Myself and my two boys. To makes things easier (and protect the obnoxious), I’ll use their nicknames, D-man (9yo) and Cheesy (6yo):

D-Man: I HATE school. I can’t believe I have to go back to that awful place. I HATE third grade.

ME: I know it’s tough, buddy, but you can do it. Just hang in there. Things will seem bet–

D-Man: –I talked to this older kid and he said he hated third grade the most. He said it sucked out of all the grades.

ME: What older kid?

Cheesy: Do rabbits have penises?

ME: What? Wait, D, what older kid did you talk to? How old?

D-Man: Thirteen.

ME: Where on Earth are you talking to thirteen year olds?

Cheesy: MOM! Do rabbits have penises?

D-man:  On Xbox. Hey, did I tell you my dream about the robot?

ME: Yes!

D-man: I already told you about my dream?

ME: No. Rabbits have penises.

Cheesy: And balls? *lots of giggles from the back seat*

ME: *sigh* Yes, if they are boys.

D-Man: So this giant robot made of Minecraft brick comes crashing out of the ocean….

Cheesy: Does Milo have balls? (our dog)

ME: Well, uh, he did. I mean, yeah. But he’s neutered. *immediate regret* rewind rewind rewind

D-Man: ….and then he twirls this snowman monster thing over his head….

Cheesy: He’s noonered! What does THAT mean?!

ME: It’s an operation dogs have so they can’t make puppies. please Lord get me out of this

D-Man: …..smashes this grey pile of ash that sprays up and blows the robot’s head off……

Cheesy: I thought only girls made babies?

ME: Cheesy, I can’t do the birds and the bees right now. Let’s tal—

Cheesy: BEES HAVE PENISES TOO?!?!

mating-flies-15885625

I’m home alone about 10AM. Kids are in school. Hubs calls.

ME: Yes? How may I help you?

HIM: Whatareyoudoing?

ME: On the computer. Whatareyoudoing?

HIM: I called to give you a couple reminders.

ME: Great. You know how much I like that.

HIM: I thought you might. I need you to be sure and take the ipad mini back today and see if they can replace it. The boys can’t be playing on it with that crack in the screen.

ME: Uh-huh.

HIM: And it would be great if you returned that hat to the party store before someone ruins it.

ME: Yep. That would be great.

HIM: And while you’re out, you should take your car to that place I told you about and get the oil changed because they’ll also wash it for you and your car is disgusting.

ME: My car is fine.

HIM: Your car is awful, Beth. Are you going to do any of those things?

ME: I will only commit to putting them on my list.

HIM: Your list.

ME: Yup.

HIM: And you’re going to put oil change on your list?

ME: Probably not.

HIM: Why? I don’t understand what the problem is…

ME: You know I hate going to the oil change place. I designated that a man job long ago.

HIM:

ME: I find it very sexy when you do man jobs.

HIM: Reeeealllly. Well, now we’re talkin’. (I can actually hear him smiling)

ME: *eye roll* it’s so damn easy

mating-flies-15885625

It’s past bedtime. The 6yo comes downstairs with what appears to be glitter and a piece of paper and approaches me at the couch. I’m limp with fatigue,  and no longer care if anyone is in jammies or has brushed their teeth. I have deferred to daddy and am attempting to escape reality by engrossing myself in Twitter and Facebook a book on orbital mechanics. Yet here is a child in my face with craft supplies.

6yo: Mommy. Mommy. You know that thing where you put glitter on the paper and shake it off and it makes dots?

ME: Uh-huh.

6yo: Can we do that?

ME: Absolutely not.

6yo: Whhhhhhyyyyyyyyyy?????

ME: What do you mean why? You’re supposed to be in bed, young man. It’s late. And we don’t even have glue.

6yo: Yes we do. *disappears around corner*

He’s out of sight, therefore, officially out of my mind. This is a bad thing, because approximately 11 minutes later, Dad calls from upstairs wondering where the 6yo is. It’s about this time that I realize glitter boy is sweeping the kitchen.

You’re smart people. You know my child spilled glitter everywhere. But what I need to explain to you is this was not ordinary glitter. This was *special* fine-as-powder-fairy-dust glitter that I bought for a specific teacher craft last year, WHICH IS WHY IT WAS HIDDEN UPSTAIRS IN MY OFFICE WHERE HE GOT IT, THE LITTLE BURGLAR. You can’t even tell any is missing from the vial, yet it is every-fricken-where. No, really. You don’t understand. I can’t envision a scenario where this glitter will not be a part of our house for the rest of our lives.

But, let me tell you something. His glitter picture? AWESOME.

Chaos Elves: 2: Collections

The 6yo has a strange habit. A collecting habit. But he’s not collecting toy cars, or video games, or baseballs. No, that would be too…predictable. He’s just collecting.

We’ll be at the park/zoo/beach and he’ll run at me with feverish intent, only to hand me a small length of broken shoe string, or a feather, or a bottle cap. “Here, for my collection,” he’ll say before running away. He collects anywhere inspiration strikes. Small piles of these random accumulations sit in various bowls, drawers, and niches all over our house.

treasures

There seems to be no specific criteria for what makes it into his trash hoarding stockpile: anything goes. He’s even handed me wet, wilted reeds from the bottom of pools. When asked what purpose these items serve, he answers simply, “To remember.”

I’ve come to realize these tiny tokens enshrine moments. They are his way of keeping memories alive, which makes the piles around my house (and bottom of my purse) like little photo albums, filled with special snapshots of his life.

Well damn.

That tugs at my heart a little. I might even be tempted to use the word endearing.

And then I recall that this is the same child who – at the age of four when I told him he couldn’t have candy at the checkout counter of Target – screamed repeatedly, “YOU’RE A PENIS!”

Not so endearing anymore. Nope. Notsomuch.

Oh, please share with me your kiddo’s worst, most embarrassing tantrum! Mine have done it all…and I mean ALL. I LOVE hearing from you! You all make me laugh more than anyone!

Chaos Elves: 1: Furby

I have two of these tiny elves of chaos living in my home. Males. The tallest says he’s 9 years old; the little one claims to be 6. They call me “Mom” and look just like me.

Weird.

They are mostly smelly and surprisingly destructive. The objects they destroy seem to have no premeditation behind them; it’s random. Primal. However, at times they can be unpredictably sweet. But you must be wary of the sweetness: the elves are very manipulative. They want things, like toys and candy. **DO NOT GIVE THEM CANDY**

The small one received a new toy yesterday – earned it with good behavior. Or so he tells me. He picked out a Furby. (get a gander at this thing) I realize now this was out of spite. He’s freakishly smart and vindictive. I have so much to learn…

This Furby – which he named “ToTo” – (that’s not annoying) sounds (yeah, they make noise) suspiciously like Jodie Foster in Nell. (Go ahead, press that. I’ll wait. No really.)

I want to drive over it in my car. Repeatedly. Back and forth. Over and over. I want little tire tracks on its head. I don’t feel bad about it, either. Not one bit. Its eyes follow me. IT’S ALIVE.