She Said WHAT?!?!

 Anyone out there with a toddler, raise your hand! Aren't they interesting as shit? I have the pleasure of spending the majority of my days with #5. I know a lot of moms that yearn for some adult conversation after a long day of deciphering toddler-ease. Maybe I was dropped on my head when I was a baby, but I'm kind of the opposite these days. I've come to realize, especially during the past couple of months, that I'd prefer to dialogue with my three year old. She's a hell of a listener. She understands. Understanding her, on the other hand, well....

For instance, one of her favorite shirts portrays a picture of a chocolate chip cookie, with the word "tough" printed in bold letters above it. It makes sense that she'd offer me one of her tough cookies during her afternoon snack. She's just now entering the stage of "mine". Everything is "mine". Not hers, not yours. Not "my". But mine. As in "Mine sissy is at schoooool two-day". Or "Mine tough cookie is goooood." Not to be confused with mine-mine, such as "I got dese sickers from Sissy's bedwoom. Dese im's mine!". That's a whole other blog post, folks. Her haphazard outbursts in the midst of a crowded grocery store ("Ha! Ha! I fah-ted!") tend to render some odd facial expressions from strangers, but she's nothing if she isn't real. Sometimes, she can be incredibly insightful. Like the time she rose from her after-dinner nap and told me all about what I thought was a pacaroni and sheets fueled delusion. But I was so wrong. She really did swallow that penny.

She also in that stage where she likes to repeat. Everything. Twice. It's akin to living with Vincent Twice Vincent Twice from Sesame Street with a pinch of Chris Rock. I recognize that this is a direct result of the certain four letter words that I have a tendency to sprinkle amongst grown-up discussions. What can I say? I'm workin' on it. Potty-mouth-training should be included in all that useless parenting literature. Isn't it ironic how they never seem to repeat the child friendly versions of the bad words? Like buttocks. Or urinate. Still, I have to admit that hearing an unexpected f-bomb from a little one with the accent of an immigrant is pretty fucking funny.

One day soon, that little bit of awesomeness will be outgrown, and her random annunciations and proverbs will be articulated no more. In the meantime, I'm going to continue to cherish every garbled syllable that crosses her lips. It makes you really, really appreciate what Willis' been talkin' 'bout. We were all her age at one time. Relating to the way she looks at the world isn't that difficult. Not if you take the time to view life thru her eyes. That, and overlooking the constipated pronunciation of her words. Yeah, she does speak like Great Uncle Felix after Thanksgiving dinner, but I'm hopeful that just like the penny, that too shall pass.




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Can't We All Just Get Along?

Seriously. Sibling rivalry, though probably incurable, has always been a point of contention around here. Never have I faced a parenting hurdle so difficult to gain the upper hand on. Anything can set any of them off, and nothing seems to stop it. I've tried it all. Apologies, hugging it out, ignorance (which, by the way is not bliss in these situations) separation (to different levels of the house). Everything. Nothing works. I've now resorted to praying.

This morning, and I'm talkin' six fucking thirty a.m., I (along with #4 and #5) was awakened to an all out nuclear holocaust of a verbal assault between #2 and #3 regarding school uniforms. As I've mentioned in a previous post, #2 and #3 couldn't be less identical, personality wise. Case in point: #2 has been appointed personal slave of #3, and #2 obliges. After all, he is four minutes older. Those four minutes? Yeah, they make a difference. 

#2 is the most self-sufficient 13 year old I've ever known. This kid rocks, and I'm not just sayin' that out of maternal admiration. He does his homework...without being told to. He's obsessively neat and organized. His future plans include working at Burger King when he turns sixteen because "it pays". He even does his own laundry. Did you hear me? He's a thirteen year old boy who washes his own clothing. That, in and of itself, has absolutely made the last thirteen years of raising him so worth it. 

Suffice it to say, #3 quickly learned of this laundering of clothing done by #2, and true to his Italian heritage, found a way to take advantage of #2's hard labor and use it for his own personal gain. Yes, I'm aware of the mafia'ish stereotyping in that last statement, but then again there is no mafia. Let's proceed...

For the past several months, #3 has been strong-arming his twin to wash his school uniforms on a daily basis. Scratch that. #2 has been doing all of #3's laundry, undies and all. I've recently become aware of #2's passive aggressive tendency, but #3's dominance never really was a secret. Still, I'm surprised at #2's compliance. Maybe it's a twin thing. I suppose we'd all be a little more accommodating had we all been forced to share a womb with someone else for months. 

This morning, at six fucking thirty, #2 got his anger on. Pushed to the brink by #3, he decided to put his foot down. After being berated for forty minutes as to how he could have possibly managed to overlook #3's laundry last night, he finally washed his hands of the whole ordeal. You should have heard it. I certainly did:

#3: "Where'd you put the uniforms?" 
#2: "Top drawer of the second dresser."
#3: "They're not there! There's only one shirt and it's yours! I have no pants!"
#2: "Well, that's where I put them."
#3: "Where's the stuff from my hamper?"
#2: "I washed what I could find. Where were your clothes?"
#3: "Under my bed."
#2: "Well, if they weren't in the hamper, they didn't get done."
#3: "But you cleaned the bedroom yesterday! Why didn't you wash my stuff? Great! Now I don't have anything to wear today! You only care about yourself!"
#2: Ok, you know what? From now on, I'm only going to wash my own stuff. That way, if I miss something, I have only myself to blame!"


I know, right? And that last remark? It was fucking priceless. As I lay in bed listening to this exchange from across the hall, it took every ounce of willpower to keep from butting my two cents in. My mother's voice kept ringing in my ear. You'll only make it worse. And that couldn't be more true. 


Eventually, #3 found a clean uniform to wear, and the war ceased. But I strongly suspect the days of #3's free housekeeping have now concluded. The young lad is on his own. Or until #2 takes pity on him once again. You know, I've thought about secretly recording their disagreements and airing them on YouTube, but that damn little voice from the great beyond just keeps getting louder. You'll only make it worse...
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An Update On The Queen....

So, I suppose I'll update ya'll on The Queen Of England's medical status. Apparently, she had a fall (off of her broom) of some sort, and is still incapacitated in a local (nursing home) hospital. Though it's not confirmed, I would imagine that she broke something (someone's spirit). Though it's not confirmed, I believe she's going to be off of her (high horse) feet for quite a spell (eternity in purgatory). I'm sure her family (at least those who'll admit it) is hoping (to be included in the will) for her speedy (or not) recovery (kicking of the bucket).

Seriously, I can't believe I'm about to admit this, but I actually kind of feel sympathy for the old bird. After all, if she does drop over not only will I have no one to argue with on a daily basis, but chances are her house will go on the market. And God only knows who might end up in there next. From what I understand, she's lived there for decades. She's as much a part of the neighborhood as the stop sign at the end of the block. It wouldn't be the same without her.

Believe it or not, she and I didn't always harbor mutual animosity for one another. Though short lived, once upon a time we actually got along. I know, I can't believe it either. That she used to bring over snacks of tootsie rolls and cookies for the kids. That she sent a really thoughtful card after the birth of #5. That she gave decent gardening advice. That she often complimented the kids. I guess the good does outweigh the bad, huh? I suppose a little part of me is rooting for her to get well soon. But, let's just keep it between us for now, ok?

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