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.
currently as i try to eat breakfast, 10yo is up on the kitchen counter screaming because 7yo is crawling toward her in a bikini saying “revenge” over and over in a creepy way. *sigh*
ok, so i broke down and got one of those creepy elf on the shelf things. seriously, these things are disturbing looking. but they kids wanted one, so…yeah.
flipped thru a million elf ideas then decided on the elf hiding in the laundry room, roasting a marshmallow over a tea light candle with marshmallows scattered all over the place. apparently it was a success, as the kids were thrilled that they found him and totally loved what he was doing. (yay me)
my first regret over the stupid effin elf: the kids came and loudly expressed this thrill and excitement to us AT 6:37 THIS MORNING (sunday), scaring the crap out of us.
how many more days til the freaky little shit can go away again?
so i get up and realize that my desk chair, where i sit to catch up on news in the morning, is gone. 9yo has co-opted it so that her stuffies can sit and watch her play a game on her computer. there are like 10 other chairs in the house. but somehow i was the bad guy when i asked for my chair back. *sigh*
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!!!!!
drive to school this morning.
daddy: oh no, here comes the sun!!! if we were vampires, we’d all be dead!
9yo’s response: i’ve been working on my chicken impression. it’s coming along quite well.
so i have barely woken up and am in the bathroom. the kids have spent most of the weekend playing “clubhouse” in our closet. (yes, the same closet that the 9yo ran away to live in. clearly our closet is fascinating beyond what i can see.) i sit down and then i hear CRASH from the closet. half naked, i jump up and throw open the door in time to see the back wire rack shelving that 1/3 of our clothes are on has come out of the wall and nearly landed on the kids. 9yo is crying about her toe, but 6yo is relatively calm. apparently 9yo was trying to climb up on a bench/storage box we have in there and held onto the rack to pull her 65+ lb self up on it. thankfully no one was hurt, but our closet is wrecked and daddy – who has done an awesome job of taking care of the kids while i was out of town – now has to spend the day fixing the rack.
so how was YOUR morning? *sigh*
after waking me up indirectly by sneaking into my room and whisper arguing over who did what to whom at any ungodly hour (which prompted me to bellow at them to get out), the kids just informed me while i was eating breakfast that they have taken almost all the clothes out of 9yo’s closet and put virtually every pillow and beanbag and half the stuffed animals (we have about 3000 in our house) in there to create “Camp Fuzzy.”
9yo: if you need us, mama, you know where to find us – CAMP FUZZY!
(please note that the closet is actually quite wide, so the full effect is lost in a picture.)
this would be eternally cute save the fact that i am entirely sure they will never put all of this stuff back and, per our normal rules and my earlier directions, this will lead me to have to: (a) confiscate all of my 9yo’s clothes; (b) tell them they can’t go to the carnival today; and (c) listen to inordinate amounts of screaming, crying, and temper tantrums as a result of (a) and (b). vive la motherhood. [collapses on desk]