From the Mouths of Babes

Yesterday the Pea was on dish duty. He had washed all the dishes in the sink but none of the stuff stacked on the counter around the sink.

Me: Pea, the dishes are not done.

Pea: I don’t care.

Me: Yes, but I care and I’m the mom so mine’s the caring that matters.

Why is it that my children think that the fact that they don’t care about things being messy has the slightest bearing on whether they need to clean it?


The other day in the midst of a fight with her father, the Princess asked why she should respect him, specifically what he had ever done to earn her respect.

Umm, let’s start with putting a roof over your head and food in your mouth for the last 11+ years and move on from there shall we?

Aren’t the tag lines that kids learn as they head in to teendom fun?!


Time (Well?) Wasted

I just spent 20 minutes trying to convince the InfaDel and the (not so) Baby to clean up the dirty laundry that they had emptied from the basket.

And then another 10 minutes trying to console the (not so) Baby, who was upset because his brother cleaned up more than he did.

Oh, You Wanted Something Permanent?

I got some comments with my last post that cereal (two FULL bags of cereal that I BOUGHT!) wasn’t really that big of a deal, it wasn’t permanent after all, it could just be vacuumed up (and by “just” here we mean with at least three separate vacuumings.)

And so, for your viewing pleasure, I give you the Sharpie artwork: (All artwork was produced by the Baby.)

102_1371 102_1372 102_1374 Yes, that’s Sharpie on the carpet too. 102_1375 102_1376 And on the carpet there. 102_1377 102_1379 102_1381

And that’s just the walls (and carpet) there’s also this: 102_1380 this:102_1370

and this:102_1383 And these: 102_1384 102_1385 And my personal favorite, the hearth:102_1382

I just don’t bother to get mad about the Sharpie anymore.

No, I don’t just have markers lying around the house all the time, 90% of the time I can not figure out where he got the marker that he’s using, but if there’s one in the building he’ll find it (last week he found 2 (TWO!) within the first five minutes of being in church.)

P.S. All walls with Sharpie on them were painted within the last year.

While I Was Upstairs Cleaning the Playroom…

… the Irish Twins were taking care of the living room:


(The fact that the Infantile Delinquent isn’t pictured does not mean he wasn’t involved (it means he was upstairs changing his underwear.))

Sometimes people joke with me about having more kids.

I don’t really think it’s funny.

le Sigh

On Sturday the Baby decided to give Rufus, my laptop, a shower.

I’d like to request a moment of silence for Rufus.

Are you ok now?

Good because we have other matters to discuss.

The death of Rufus means several things, one of which is that I will not be blogging as often.  Often I post while I’m at work but … sniffle… no, I’m fine really, just give me a minute… ok I won’t be able to do that now.  It also means that I won’t be reading blogs as much, due to a) lack of available time (I can’t have breakfast at the family computer) and b) the fact that my blog reader was on my desktop which is now… *waving violently in front of my eyes* … inaccessible.

It also means that I have to put up with the home computer.  Which sucks.

It’s going to be fine.

Luckily the prospect of a brand new toy, remember this, is keeping me from falling into despair.  I was sure I would get it today.  I didn’t.  But I’d like to thank Janelle for the fact that getting the mail today did not reduce me to tears.  I didn’t get this:but I did get these:

Thank you Janelle.

Name Them One By One

Because I really really want to make a list that looks like this;

1. The fact that $1,200 of my tax return is missing.

2. My children.

3. The fact that Sean just goes out and buys himself whatever he wants (making him impossible to buy gifts for)

4. Stupid cold weather.

5. That I have three printers in my house and not one of them will actually print anything.

6. I’ve worn a hole in the knee of my favorite jeans.

I’m making a list that looks like this instead.

1. Sean

2. A roof over my head.

3. With central heat.

4. The promise of spring on some of the trees in the neighborhood.

5. The promise of spring in my flower bed.  (Those of you who don’t have crocuses, or at least tulips or daffodils (although crocuses bloom first) really, you need to do this.)

6. My tax return (or at least part of it) suddenly appearing in my savings account.

7. Sean.

8. Lamb stew.

9. Couscous.

10. The knowledge that children with minds active enough that they cannot resist getting into everything that looks the slightest bit interesting will eventually move out of my home.

11. Fantastic, cute and comfortable, $3 boots.

12.  Fantastiker, cuter but much less comfortable, a lot more than $3 boots.

13. Ticket master gift cards.

14. Books.

15. Burn Notice.

16. Opposeable thumbs.

17. Sean.

18. Heated mattress-pads.

19. Birth control.

20. Sugar cookies.

21. Chocolate with hazelnuts in it.

22. Chocolate with almonds in it.

23. My mother.

24. Cheap windows.

25. Sean.

*Note: I recognize that there are some items conspicuously missing from the second list (that my feature somewhat prominently on the first one.)  I stand by my lists.

I know it’s not thanksgiving but all comments must include at least one addition to the list.  The second list.

The Real Houdini

Back when the Infantile Delinquent was stealing cars my mother said that rather than calling him Irish 1, which was what I called him at the time, I should call him Houdini.  I thought about it but then I came up with Infantile Delinquent and I thought that was pretty clever (and then bythelbs came up with InfaDel and that was even cleverer and a lot of fun) so I went with Infantile Delinquent instead.

And now I know I made a good choice.  Sure the Infadel steals cars but only those that are left unlocked.  Or those to which he has access to the keys, which is pretty precocious for a two-year-old but not quite as impressive as his sister who opens this 102_0819from the other side of the door.  (That’s not a stain on the door jamb, it’s just unpainted wood from where the hinges used to be before I turned the door around.  Long story.)

Sean and I sleep in the basement in our house.  All the kids sleep upstairs.  Most of the time.  But the kids are horrible sleepers and all of them with the exception of the Pea would prefer to sleep in our bed.  The Princess and the InfaDel feel so strongly about this that they will sneak down stairs in the middle of the night to do so.  The Baby probably would too but he can’t get out of his crib.  Yet.  (He’s only barely one after all) So he doesn’t.

In an effort to not have four people in our bed every night  we started locking the basement door.  That was effective for all of maybe one night.  Then the Princess realized that by inserting a screwdriver along the striker plate (the plate that lets the door close without your having to turn the knob.  Yes, I had to look that up.) she could pop that sucker right open.

So after waking up to find the Princess in our bed 2 or 3 (or 20 or 30) times we installed the very fancy hook and eye latch.

Before we proceed let me point out a few features of the hook and eye.

It’s placed high on the door.  I’m 5’7″ and I took this picture standing, notice how you’re looking up at the latch?

There’s a backstop (looked that one up too) between the edge of the door and the latch so anything that’s going to open that latch has to turn a corner.  (You can’t really see it in this picture but in the interest of full disclosure I will tell you that the backstop on this particular door is backwards because when I turned the door around I was too lazy to pull off the backstop and turn it around too.)

This particular latch has a spring loaded lock on it.  You drop the latch into place and then pull the lock thingy back and  it’s supposed to secure the latch into place. (This feature is not very effective, it’s easy to unlatch the thing without pulling back the lock.  But it has to add some resistance right?)

The latch stopped the Princess for all of two nights.


At first we thought that we were forgetting to latch it.  Nope.

Maybe she was just jimmying the door and the latch was coming off?  No.

I wondered if she was somehow getting a screwdriver in there so I tried it.  That didn’t work either.

So finally we asked her.

She carries a chair down the stairs and stands on it.  Then she takes a paperback book and slides the cover between the door and the frame.  The cover of the book easily turns the corner (Made slightly easier by the backward backstop but still…) and with the book cover lifts the latch.  She then inserts a screwdriver between the door and the striker plate, because we often engage both the latch and the lock (why, I have no idea because obviously neither are doing any good)  and unlocks the door.  She then carries the chair back upstairs, puts the book and the screwdriver away (the only time she ever cleans up after herself) and them comes back downstairs and climbs into bed with us.

It really is too bad she’s an evil genius.

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