about an hour before work ends, I get this text:
me (at work): *dies laughing*
[co-workers look at me like I’m nuts]
me (texting back): is it A flying bug? (yes). where was it? (In the main room) Well, lock yourself in the hallway. I’m sure you won’t starve before I get home. [note: i work quite a ways from where they are]
them: ok don’t freak out though. we’re fine
me: *contemplates how texting they’re trapped without food equals fine*
UPDATE: came home, looked through the whole house, but couldn’t find any bug. so now we’re stuck with ongoing bug creepiness in the house until something turns up. *sigh*
*watches commercial for hulu and pizza rolls*
9yo: pizza rolls
9yo: pizza rolls
me: last time we had some, you didn’t eat them.
9yo: well I don’t remember it, so it never happened.
went to go tell 11yo it was time for bed. saw the light on in the bathroom. knocked and opened the door to find 8yo washing her hands. then the smell hits me. nail. polish. she didn’t want to go to sleep so she decided that the best thing to do was go into the bathroom and paint her nails. then had to try to wash off the polish because she messed it up. WTF child?!?!? *exasperated*
7yo [sniffing my arm]: I’m smelling your DNA [this sounds eerily familiar]. you smell like…. light bulbs.
7yo [turning to 10yo]: and you smell like….a cup.
10yo: [frowns] a paper,plastic, or Styrofoam cup?
7yo: a metal cup. actually a metal looking cup made out of…..flesh.
10yo: [mouths help me]
me: so much for keeping my dinner down
me [to 7yo]: it’s bedtime.
7yo: I WILL NOW LEAVE THE ROOM IN AN EXTREMELY WEIRD WAY. [wiggles, hops, jumps, spins, dances, tumbles out the door with a bizarre look on her face]
whereupon daddy and i look at each other, shake our heads and start laughing.
i come out of the bathroom. both kids are snickering. i look around suspiciously but see nothing. 9yo whispers to 7yo and tries to get her to tell me something. 7yo refuses.
9yo: 7yo said you said she could use your labeler.
me: um, no, i didn’t. [narrows eyes at them] what did you do?
9yo: well, we made some labels….. [laughing behind her hand]
7yo: i typed in “bum” and made a label to stick on my bum!!! [giggling crazily and turning around to show me her bum]
9yo: and then we typed in poopy and pee……. [cracking up and showing me labels]
me: stop. just stop. now. [drops head sadly]
this is clearly daddy’s fault, as they KNOW i don’t want to hear about bums or toilets or whatever. maybe i should just be happy they are organizing?