Hope You're Feeling Random.

There are just too many bulletins, so I'm not gonna get all creative on how to weave them all together; I'd never get through the material. So here I go, in no particular order.

The first question is this: Will I really go to Hell for wanting to sell a child on the black market? And if not, who would I need to contact to arrange the deal? I wonder how much he might go for... On second though, who cares? Riddance is the real purpose here. The poor carpeting in our front room has been the pitiable and unlucky recipient of the worst kind of surprise. What is it, you ask? Well it's at least eight mucusy puke piles, all delivered in the last three days. No exaggeration. If it was my kid doing this I'd flush him down the toilet, but first I'd fill the toilet with rotten, regurgitated food so he'd have to live in the sewer amidst an environment like the one he created in my living room. Is that overboard? My heart is vengeful. Somewhat disappointingly, my mind intercedes. Oh, if life were a fairy tale...
(By the way, for any of you who've been living under a rock, the kid I babysit makes himself throw up when he doesn't get his way. If I were the sort of person who called people names, I might use terms like manipulative, spoiled, unholy nightmare... I'd better stop. I also should note here that the boy has many more attractive attributes. This is just the one that festers to the top of the list after three days of scrubbing dank, putrid bile. I swear I actually like the kid otherwise.)

Anywho, in other news, Jesse loves the movie Cars, and to keep him quiet on the plane to Utah we got him a little Lightning McQueen, and Mater, and one of the field tractors. The other day Jes called me over to watch what he was doing with his cars. He had the tractor tipped up on its back side. He told me he was tractor tippin'. (Haven't seen it? Rent it. If you have kids.) The kid knows even the tiniest details of that movie. He's so smart it's annoying sometimes. You know how first time moms brag on and on about how smart their babies are? (Ok, maybe we all do this a bit.) Well if they knew what they were doing, they'd pray for their next child to be a little less intelligent. Think about it, why the h*ll would you want a genius kid anyway? Show me a kid who's entertained watching the dust in the air, and I'll show you a mother who runs her own life. Seriously. Unfortunately Jesse's so freaking tricky he was able to convince me that he'd turned over a new leaf and was suddenly a sharing enthusiast. These past few days he's given countless cookies to Gabe. And this was a really big deal, cause Jesse goes absolutely insane over cookies. (You could say he's a cookie monster. Ok. I know I'm not funny.) Anyway he would ask for one for himself and then say, "Give Baby cookie," and I'd hand him one for his brother. I was suspicious enough to check with Gabe the next time I passed him to be sure he actually received the cookie. Had I been wise enough to actually watch Jesse deliver the cookie to Gabe, I'd have caught on a lot sooner that Jes was taking a huge bites of the cookie before handing it over. He left nothing but a narrow crescent for the baby to eat. After I wised up to his scheme I started handing cookies to Gabriel myself, so Jes would wait till I was distracted and take it and stuff it into his mouth before Gabe could even protest. Again I ask you, what would be easier? A smart child or a simple one?

Life around here is hazardous. Yesterday I got kneed in the ear. Don't ask how, cause I don't even remember. It isn't that unique an experience for me. Boys, boys, boys! A couple days ago I was trying to cut Jesse's hair without the help of his dad to steady J's head (I totally butched one side, by the way), so I gave him the spray bottle and a towel to soak while I worked. Part way through the haircut Jes jumped strait up in the air and screamed, "Oooohhh! I killed the bug!" and sure enough, there was a tiny bug curled up in the towel trying to wait out the storm in a tight bundle. It felt kind of nice, at least I wasn't the only one experiencing stress at the hands of this kid. He's also back on the kick of calling me by my name rather than "Mom," or "Mama." It doesn't really bother me, but it does throw me off when I hear something like, "Donna, wipey nose!" (wipe my nose) or "Donna, please change dipey!" (diaper). I just don't expect someone who calls me by name to be requesting I come into contact with such personal areas- (Adults just are not generally that friendly). Speaking of names, you wanna know something weird about southerners? They all call one another "Miss Whoever" and "Mister Whatshisname." Neighbors, acquaintances, everyone- regardless of age. My neighbor who is like forty years older than me calls me "Miss Donna." It kinda hits me funny when I hear that cause that's what my two-year-olds called me in my Mommy and Me class when I worked for the YMCA. I just can't get used to hearing it from grown-ups. And I never remember to address other adults that way. I'm sure they all think I'm horribly rude. Eh, what can ya do...
Back to Jesse's weirdnesses. The other night, at like 11:00, I still hadn't managed to get the kids into bed (one of those complicated nights). So I laid Gabe down for a fresh diaper and realized that he'd pulled yet another undetectable stealth poop and now had a rash. For my sweet Gabriel the only way to get rid of a rash is a bath. No wipes and cream crap, just a bath. Since it was so late though, I didn't want the hassle of the whole routine so I threw him in the sink, scrubbed him up, and took him into the bedroom to dress him. When I went back to the kitchen to drain the sink I found a bare naked, tightly-folded giant sitting in the water, playing with a measuring spoon. That's right, the Jess man. I'm starting to think I may have been abducted and impregnated by alien beings. It would just explain so much. You know what- let's just list some of J's characteristics that, at least in my opinion, are a little eccentric. (1) When I pour him a bowl of cereal, the first thing he does is dunk it all under the milk. This particular feature must have been either inherited or learned from his father. (2) Jesse will stop at nothing to get chocolate or cookies, and I won't even tell you what he'll do for chocolate cookies. (3) He practices giving Gabe liquid Tylenol -or "purple," as we call it- with the pump he pulled out of the baby wash container. He also uses the pump to "wash" each individual toe, of everyone within his reach, but when he does this he uses the straw end of the pump. (4) He likes buses. (As in the plural of bus). There's nothing like a good bus. The guy lives for buses. Whatever, dude. (5) Something about flying in an airplane brings out his extensive vocabulary of all things explosive. And guns. And he gets very loud on planes, always waiting till takeoff to begin ranting about bombs and BOOM and shooting. What a lovely attribute. It's charming. (6) The kid just can't enter or exit a room without SLAMMING the door behind him. This poses a problem because he's usually followed closely by his little brother, and one of these days somebody's gonna lose a couple fingers. Good luck, Gabey! Thus is the plight of the younger brother. And the cycle continues. (Just ask Caleb. He'll tell ya.) We do our best to prevent it but with Jesse, tormenting/ injuring Gabe is an art.
Okay, so this blog entry is no masterpiece. It's not done. And it's not proofread. But thanks to the lunatic ravings of a witch named Katey, I'm posting it anyway. You may direct your complaints to her at the following address...