i wake up this morning. the other side of the house is quiet – always a bad sign. i go into 10yo’s room to find no kids, but a bare mattress that is suspiciously lumpy. i proceed to sit on it, which of course causes squealing.
fast forward to 10 minutes later, i hear yelling from the room. both are under the mattress but on top of the boxspring.
10yo: she befouled my mattress!!!!!!!
7yo [laughing hysterically]: that means i passed gas on it. [both crack up again]
me:…. [closes door and walks away pretending that these people aren’t related to me]
p.s. did i mention that 7yo stole one of my lipsticks and put it on, but since she’s been playing, it is smeared all over her face and she looks like the joker or some other demented clown? yeah, that too.
the kids wanted me to play my lil pony with them the other day (we have several of them, including a few i can actually name). they set it up with a pony car, some pony groceries and a grocery cart, and various other things. the detailed background story that 10yo came up with for each pony was amazing. after playing a pretty much normal game for a while, things turned to less standard fare.
the rest of the playing is impossible to recreate in words, and possibly should not be for public consumption. suffice it to say that we segued into a song (the first song) called “i am a dodo (bird).” then there was soy riding (yes, soy) on another pony (don’t. ask.), which after a while led bizarrely into an adult pony (there were kid and baby ponies, of course) lying on the ground muttering they were a bitter adult with emotional issues, and eventually to numerous accusations that certain ponies were making other ponies need therapy. somewhere in the middle there was the poof song (which consists of saying poof a million times), and repeated statements through the entire game of “i like pie!”
i’m pretty sure that i now need therapy.
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?
soooo daddy bought a hockey mask a la Jason and was just chasing the kids around the house. my head and eardrums are completely traumatized by the shrieking.
9yo was running away, but 6yo is standing there shrieking without moving.
daddy: she would be the one in that commercial about the bad decisions who would run and hide behind the chainsaws…..
me: [dying laughing]
quickly followed by…
9yo: daddy smartly hit my shin.
me: daddy, give her scooter back!!!
9yo: oooh, hand to hand combat!!!
me: daddy, stop biting the children!!!!!
omg this is sooo my kids!!! the pic on the left is how my house looks on the weekends, and the pic on the right is school days!
on a related note, my house is a wreck and i’m deaf. again.
6yo: tomorrow i’m going to beat this house up senseless
me: um, yeah, you do that.