The Pinterest Incident

You know those pinterest projects you see online? You are like "WOW, that is so easy! I could totally do that!!" I have had many of those moments as we get ready for our new home. I have been somewhat......inspired.

This particular incident has nothing do with the kids. I can't even blame it on the kids, though I'm sure if you gave me enough time I could figure out a way to. This is all me baby...and Brewerman. Who was no help at all as he was laughing like a hyena. 

It all started with a kitchen table. I found one that could actually sit us all on the cheap, it just needed painted black. No problem right? I might even "distress" it oooooooo because that is REALLY easy when I am sitting on my fat butt looking at Pinterest.

I go to the local Sherman Williams store.

I want something that LASTS I say, oil based paint - he says! I buy, he smiles, I wince as I pay, then I leave. Of course I want to start RIGHT away so I get to sanding. This is easy! I am loving this. Psh, people pay hundreds for this and look at me, just kicking it out. Vanerellian stopped by and asks me slowly "You plan on doing all of this tonight?" I smirk, "Of course! Look at me! I'm so cool!" BLAH. 

Anyways, after sanding, I go out to paint. Painting looks so easy, and "is" so easy...if you are painting a 4"x4" canvas square. A dining table (with fancy schmancy legs with fancy schmancy crevices that I just HAD to have) is not. Throw in a bench and 5 chairs with a million poles each and someone should have just punched me in the face a couple times, I'm sure I'd be less sore.

As a painting novice I may have bit off more than I can chew. The round poles on the chairs were like torture devices by the time I got to the fifth gosh darn mother loving chair. At that point the only reason I kept going is because Brewerman told me a couple times that I needed to stop and do the rest the next day. Challenge accepted.

At one point I got paint on my arm, then the other arm, then I looked like a tattooed biker complete with face tattoos and a pissed off attitude. I dipped my hair in the paint lid can that I decided to keep in the middle of the floor like the idiot I am. I immediately went to wash it out, Brewerman told me to just let it dry first. I shrugged and went on my painting freaking way.

FINALLY I get done. Last f#$&*# bench is done and painted. My hands resemble cramped up claws, but it was done. 

Now time to clean up.

Wait.

Oil freaking-Based freaking paint.  

Hmmm...okay well paint thinner will have to be used for my biker arms. That worked well even though I was sure I just gave myself cancer. 

Now for a shower.

Wait.....remember that "dipped my hair in paint". Huh, that chunk o' paint is now holding half my hair in one giant dried up rubberish worm like...thing.

I go for shampoo....well that didn't work. F&*#$(& Brewerman. "Just let it dry." 

I immediately scream at him from the bathroom and we have a five minute discussion on paint thinner in my hair and if it will bleach. As the glob that is my hair refuses to give one last time I just tell him to go for it.

And that is where we went wrong, folks. Terribly...terribly...wrong.

B: "Cup your hand and I will pour thinner in it and just rub it in your hair."

N: "Oh god just hurry! My hair! Oh my god, my hair!!" 

B: "Okay here we go."

N: "Okay it's working"

B: "Holy shit"

N: "WHAT!?!? What!?! Oh god, am I a blond?"

B: "Oh my gosh, Natalie, look down."

*Gray streaks of watered down paint thinner and paint are pouring down me. Except it's oil-based...they don't go away!! I look like a bruised prostitue from the 20's complete with the rolls."

N: "GAAAAAH, Brewerman GET IT OFF!! What the hell!!?! I freaking TOLD you I shouldn't have let it dry. What is going on!?! AHHHHHH!"

*Brewerman is laughing his ass off.*

At this exact moment, paint thinner gets in my eyes from what once was normal hair and is now dripping poison and paint.

N: "OWWWW!! SOB *beep, beep, beep* I have paint thinner in my eyes!" *Wildly throws my arms in the air.*

B: "Shut the water off!!"

N: "I can't see! I'm dying!!"

B: "Oh god, I'll shut it off"

N: "Ahhhhhh my eyes!"

Brewerman starts laughing again as we realize the full amount of grey that is now splattered all over me. Then immediately stops laughing as we realize it is splattering all over our about-to-be-sold shower. I would have too but my eyes were swollen shut by that time.

B: "Oh shit. It's all over!! We have to get this off the shower! SOB!! Why does this always happen when we sell our homes!? Here!" 

Brewerman then throws paint thinner all over the shower and hands me a towel.

N: "Screw the shower, wipe me off!! Is it working? Dah my eyes! I can't see! Stop laughing you jerk! It's still coming! It wont stop dripping grey paint."

B: "Seriously Natalie, this is so freaking funny."

N: "If I could see right now I would punch you."

Finally I wash my hair in the bath 5 times and four more times including vinegar and olive oil and it finally stops dripping grey death. Brewerman is still laughing. Good news is paint thinner takes off years of grime in the shower so it's never been cleaner. My hair seems to not be too bleached but I still smell like paint thinner, and my hands are still cramped into creepy looking claws. 

Did I mention everything still needs a second coat tomorrow? I also just read that paint thinner makes your hair fall out and bleaches it down to the root. I am going to be one sexy lady. Freaking google..

***Sorry for the cussing. Not really. I may or may not be a tad high right now from paint fumes.***

Update Scheduled! Added Bonus: The Hiding Incident

Adoption #3 - Step #2: Homestudy Update Scheduled - CHECK!!!

That's right folks - I gots the call!!! The social worker called! The social worker called!

She was super sweet too. Which is great. We are already nervous, we don't want her to be all mean and snarly.

Speaking of which, this is the 3rd time we've been through this, why would we be nervous!? That's pretty ca-razy on our parts. But alas, we are. I can already feel myself want to redo all my closets and kitchen cabinets.....uh oh...

It's scheduled for July 26th. It's in the middle of the day so we will probably just take off work all day. I mean the morning will be spent cleaning (just as every moment between right now and then will be) and the afternoon will probably be spent drinking detoxing.

Oh and then, the most important part, we have to prep the boys.

No no no, not because they could get nervous. This isn't for the boys at all. We need to prep them to figure out what the heck they could possibly say, and maybe mention stuff that might not be appropriate.

Why, you say?

What possibly would we be afraid of?

That brings me to the next part of this lovely blog.
______________________________________________________________________________

The "Hiding" Incident:

I go to pick up my lovely children from daycare. I usually start with Lil'Guy's class because it's first in my route. Plus trying to corral Lil'Dude while talking to Lil'Guy's teacher is a pain in the a&$ much harder than corralling Lil'Guy while talking to Lil'Dude's teacher. Mainly because Lil'Guy is too busy saying good bye to every living person in the center because he is Mr.social pants.

So.

Lil'Guy's teacher and I were talking about his day.

She stops and said to me:

"Yeah....ummmm"

Instantly my face drops...heart races...and I get ready... oh yeah...been there, done that....something's coming

"We had an incident in school today."

Quickly check the other kids to see if any are bleeding or have black eyes.

"I think you might need to talk to Lil'Guy about not sharing stories that could be personal."

Oh crap. Uh oh...bedroom antics. Did he hear us? Oh god oh god oh god. What came out of my son's ever-spewing too-smart mouth!?

She then starts recapping what happened:

It all started, like many great stories start, with a day dedicated to learning about birds.

She asked the class if anyone had a story they would like to share about birds.

My darling lovely cuddlebug-of-a-flower-of-a-sweet-pea-on-a-hot-day child specifically raises his fat little cute-as-a-button hand. She calls on him to tell us the story he would like to share. About birds.

"Sometimes, my mommy and Lil'Dude and I hide in her closet from daddy."

I'm sorry...what?

So like an idiot, in shock, I say something like "they aren't allowed in my closet". She then said

"He specifically said from daddy".

It clicks.

W.T.F!!!!!!!!!
(sorry for the cussing and multiple !!! but seriously. WTF!! I mean...come on...wtf.!!)


At this point the teacher looks at me expectantly and I think I have this combined look of a fish face / pissed / confused / and horrified. I am immediately trying to figure out what the hell my hellion  jerk  mouthy  too-big-for-his-britches lovely son is talking about.

A. They really aren't allowed in my closet. Ever.

B. Hiding from daddy? Psh.

C. WTF!!!!!!

Then I remember...we hide in my closet during a tornado (it has the most reinforced walls around it). Brewerman is usually out in the living room watching TV and coming back and forth. Don't ask me why he said we were hiding from him but my only thought is that, since daddy isn't in there with us, they thought it was a game (??).

And, by the way, Lil'Guy was looking WAY too innocent during this whole time to be believable...I can't prove he did it on purpose...

I tell the teacher about the tornado and being in the closet, spewing and stuttering and trying to glare at my kid at the same time. She gives me this dubious look and just sort of mutters something about just talking to him.

Then my filter leaves. Goes bye-bye. My brain shuts down. I want to convince her. I need  to convince her!!

I start rambling.

That's right. Oh crap. Nothing good comes out of me rambling.

"I mean..." awkward slightly-crazed laugh "...I wouldn't be HIDING..." ringing hands, eye twitching "....FROM daddy...I mean" weird giggle/snort "....I mean if that ever happened..." another creepy crazed laugh "...you can bet your behind that I would not be hiding..." fake cough "...I would be out there with an ax or something."

Yeah Natalie.

Because that made the sweet preschool teacher feel better.

We are supposed to tone down the crazy.


I promptly gave her a weird AH CRAP WHAT DID I JUST SAY smile, started talking way too loud about stupid things I can't remember now, grabbed my loud-mouthed kid, grabbed my other kid (who was a little freaked that I was moving so fast), and got the heck out of dodge.



The teacher told me later that she had the best laugh of her life after that.

______________________________________________________________________________


And THAT folks is why we must prep our children.

If a story like that came from a topic like BIRDS.....there is no telling what these two can come up with when prompted.


Oh and no, I have not, nor will not, share this blog with my social worker. Oh my, no thanks. If you send it to her then I will be forced to kill you. Or just physically hurt you. Bad. Or just a little. Probably I will just talk bad about you behind your back and give you nasty looks the next time I see you.

But it will hurt.

The Costco Incident

So this post is a Guest Speaker Post!!

Well...more like a "HA HA IT WASN'T MY KID THIS TIME!!" post. Especially since this has been one of my biggest fear since becoming a parent. And. It. Wasn't. My. Kid!!!!!!!!

A few months ago, my sister, Katierahrah came down for the weekend with her children, Hayladiva, Turtleman, and Madhappymadhappy. They adore my children, and my children adore them. I always envisioned my kids being close to their cousins and they are.

(Except don't tell Lil'Guy that I gave Turtleman that nickname. He would be furious and then I would have an all-out war on my hands. We already have to call Lil'Guy RaphaelLuigi. Or DonatelloLuigi, depending on his mood.)

Well on Saturday, since my mom came and she can hardly go an hour without some form of shopping, we decided to go to Costco. My love in a store.

Looking back, we were rather stupid.

But of course, most of the time I think that when I look back.

Anyway, we decide to eat lunch at Costco, since it's 1pm and someone wouldn't stop the endless ranting about how hungry they were....Katierahrah....not the kids. So we eat a whole 18" Costco Pizza, two 12" Costco hotdogs, and 3 - 14" Costco Churros smothered in cinnamon and sugar. Hey, I was hungry when I ordered. The kids did each get half a piece of pizza. C'mon now...we aren't complete selfish pigs.

So anyway, since we have a thousand kids with us who are all 6 and under, it took us about 5 months to eat. Then we went shopping. Costco shopping takes me about a day with just me. I love it. I look at everything, even stuff I saw the last 1000 times I went there. My wallet fears for it's life as my hands start grabbing stuff to buy. They must put something in the air there...


Okay back to the incident.

We have all eighteen kids running around like mad men because we gave them pure deep fat fried sugar and pizza five minutes ago. We are browsing...looking...loving. Stopped at the Blender Dude selling the $400 blender, watched him make smoothies, ripped all 14 kids away from said blender dude and my mom who was quickly trying to figure out a reason why she HAS to have buy it.

We round the corner to the meats, and go past the freezer section. A short hour later we were by the chips. By that time one kid is crying for no reason, one is hanging off the cart, one is running and dive bombing on the floor, one is at the sample cart....again, while we are frantically feeding the littlest and quite possibly most dangerous one food to keep her happy. Then one by one like a freak show waterfall each have to pee. Like "I am going to pee my pants NOW" pee. *sigh* Why they can't give you more warning I will never know.

Then all of a sudden my mom and I happen to look to our left.

We see Turtleman pushing against the door clearly marked "EXIT - ALARM WILL SOUND".

Time slows down. We yelll "Noooooo." I (having the most practice at quick-drawing with my own kids) start rushing Turtleman to yank him away.

But right as I get to him...it happened.

Oh, and when it happens....it happens LOUD.


The alarm starts BLARING. And not just on that one teeny 10 foot section.

Hello Costco Shoppers, we now have a LOUD HORN alarm echoing through the entire store. So I, of course, like the super concerned shopper and responsible parent I am, run for it. I yell at the kids to follow me and RUN and bolt it to the bathroom leaving my mom and sister standing there stunned. It's all in the practice, I lost the ability to be surprised by the antics of children a long time ago.

Oh...then to add the cherry to the delcious homemade whipped topping topped Mint Chocolate Chip Sundae with chocolate sauce...ah hem...sorry about that, I'm pretty hungry.

Back to story: to top it all off my bra strap unhooks by itself. So I am running ahead, holding up my bra, screaming at the kids to follow me, five kids dashing after me holding themselves because they have to go to the bathroom so bad, through Costco, while the alarm is blaring loud enough for the people across the street to hold their ears.

Fun.Times.

Finally, I hit the rest room, escort the frantic kids into the right rooms (instantly yanking the three boys out of the same stall because they think it would be fun to cross streams...boys are weird) and re-hook my stupid bra. Then each little person does their business in the bathroom (while I am consistently telling the others to stop trying to look under random stalls, not touch anything, and for goodness sake buckle your pants before you come out). After they washed their hands for the millionth time and each took 15 paper towels, I hear my cue to come out...the alarm stops.

I squeakishly stick my head out of the bathroom, but there is no Costco security guard ready to escort us out. I don't think anyone knew it was us, and just to be sure I started talking smack to a random woman about parents letting their kids run all crazy through the store and setting off alarms. Then I escorted all five kids (one of whom STILL wasn't buckled) to find my mom and sister that I left to handle the alarm.


Anywho - there is my "HA HA IT WASN'T MY KID" incident.

All in all, a pretty fantastic weekend with my pretty fantastic family.

He is MY brother....incident

Well as the title states it turned out to be a very interesting weekend. Lil'Dude's birthmom did come and that was fabulous. She is amazing. Such a strong, beautiful woman and it was very surprising how easy conversation came (even though I was pretty nervous, which means I blabbed...a lot). It was also fun to see Lil'Dude's sister (Lil'Beauty), who is gorgeous, sweet, and smart as a whip. They also look just alike.

We did end up going to Dino World, which was fun...for like a minute. It's a little small to make the drive again but Lil'Dude liked going and he got a dinosaur egg that cracks after 2 days which he believes is the coolest thing ever.

So everything was going great....until I hear Lil'Beauty (who calls Lil'Dude brother...so cute!) say "Hey brother, look at this dinosaur!!"

Then Lil'Guy..."He's MY brother."

Lil'Beauty: "He's MY brother."

wait for it....


wait for it....


Remember me saying my youngest child better turn out to be a big guy cause he is going to get the s*it kicked out of him in high school for his mouth?"

well...I promptly hear Lil'Guy say (loud enough for EVERYONE to hear):

"Oh yeah? Well he lives with me."

With a self-satisfied smirk on his face that tells me he isn't really giving a crap about Lil'Guy being his brother more so like he just wanted to win.


W.T.F. (insert mortification here)

Luckily I looked over and Lil'Dudes birthmom is laughing it up, and we all kind of have this shocked face on. Lil'Beauty isn't phased, she fires back something I couldn't hear because I am zeroed in on my smartelic-and-a-half son and I proceed to explain to Lil'Guy how Lil'Dude is both their brothers...no matter what. And very quietly add a little warning about losing the 'tude please.


Why can't he be super extra smart at math? Or spelling? No...I have to have the kid with the smartest MOUTH on the block.

The Chick-Fil-A Incident

Today we'll be taking a trip down my bumpy and sometimes large portions missing memory lane....

to the Chick-Fil-A Incident.


It started where all things horrible start...with a dentist appointment. Both the kids had one that morning and they did phenomenal, no cavities, but of course we got news that they will probably both need braces. Needless to say we just went ahead and arranged for every other paycheck to transfer there until they are 18.

So to celebrate the kid's fabulous behavior I am taking them to Chick-Fil-A! Excitement! Laughter! Chicken Nuggets!!

We order and semi-eat until they contain it any longer, they must go to play in the play area. Lil'Dude rushes into the play area and Lil'Guy follows, then quickly realizes I'm not there so runs back to me. Then cries because he wants to play, then cries because he is  too scared. I end up bribing him to stay with me with Lil'Dude's leftover nuggets.

Then I notice beside me there is a table of moms. Not just any moms. Frisco moms. Very high-end moms with their made-to-order 2 kids all 2 years apart exactly and their 400$ strollers. I'm talking at least 10 of these high priced mommas.

It's all going fine until I hear a kid screaming. Most parents would think "Uh oh, I wonder what happened". I think "Lil'Dude."

Well the kid runs out of the play area screaming at the top of his lungs. I remain calm and am about to go check when another mom comes out of the play area obviously looking around, I see her spot Christopher (thinking "okay so that must be the mom"), then say to me "Uhhh those two were both fighting" (while pumping her fists like fist fighting). I dumbly stare and say "fist fighting?". Yup.

Now the other screaming kid is probably 5 - 6 years old and about twice the size of Lil'Dude. So I am thinking "really Lil'Dude!?" and I go in there. He's in the car on top of the play area.

I admit...my first thought was "Obviously the play car wasn't big enough for both of them". *Snicker.*

After 5 minutes of red-faced-seriously-mad-whispering to get him out of the play car and down to the floor, I tell him he is to apologize and we are going home. He looks at me like "whatever" then goes and apologizes.

The other kid was still wailing when Lil'Dude went up to him and apologized, of course he didn't say a word and his mom didn't have him apologize back. Ugh. C'mon Lil'Dude, you can put up a performance like that, at least PRETEND that it hurt you too. Oh and the wailing 6 year old's mom? One of the table-o-moms. I'd tell you it was the highlighted obviously-not-real-blond one but that wouldn't narrow it down much. Anyways, now the whole table is looking at me with dirty looks as the kid that's twice the size of Lil'Dude keeps sobbing and screaming because they BOTH fought EACH OTHER.

Well. That changes the game.

Now I'll admit Lil'Dude was in the wrong. But it takes two to rumble. Don't you be blaming me because your kid can't hold up his own. I give them back a look that clearly tells them where they can put their high dollar lipsticked mouths, tell the kids they aren't getting ice cream (which only THEN makes Lil'Dude mad and cry). I can see them all turn their matching-yoga-outfitted bodies to me as I leave and I "accidentally" may or may not have dropped something on the ground and had to bend over to get it. Right when they turned their heads.

"Oops."

Okay but really. What 3 year old gets into a fist fight!? How do they even know how to do that!? And why the HECK couldn't he have at least squeezed out a tear?? Ah well...it's never boring I'll tell you that.

"The Poop" Incident

Well this is it....the famed "The Poop" Incident.

One of the most if not most embarrassing moment of my life. So far. Oh man do I hope it's for the rest of my life. It's not as long of a story as other incidents, but this holds more of a punch.

Though the fist fight at Chick-Fil-A last week could maybe be up there as far as "punches" go. That is now the "Chick-Fil-A" Incident. But that's for another post...

So..."The Poop" Incident.

It all started with my lovely friend, Vanerellian (pronounced van-er-ell-ee-ahn). Obviously I'm using her real name here. She said she would watch my kids for me while my *old* daycare was out. Again. So she was being a doll and agreed to watch my lovely baby (Lil'Guy) and terrible horrible no good but oh so cute two year old (Lil'Dude) all day.

Well needless to say, this was fairly close to the phone incident. So I was a little bit "on edge" already. I drop them off at 8, and things are going ok. I'm relaxing, I'm working, I'm thinking that maybe I was just being paranoid. Then I get a call. It's, oh, 1pm or so. It's Vanerellian.

"Yeah...um....Natalie? Okay...so...um....I put Lil'Dude to nap. I thought he had laid down so I let him be. Then..um...I went to check on him and he somehow.....well he wasn't sleeping..."

Wait for it.....wait for it.

"he pooped on the floor in my daughter's room, dug it in her rug with a toy, then he pee'd on my daughters books."

Oh. My. God.

I'm sorry. Did I catch that right??

You say he did WHAT!?!

Pooped on the floor. Then DUG IT IN!? Oh, and if that isn't bad enough he tops it off he pee's on her books. Nice.

Oh and this boy is still in diapers. He had to poop in the diaper, take it off, then put it on the floor. #$*&!!! Okay I take that back, he could've taken the diaper off, then pooped.

So I freak out, then rush over there. Thinking that my kid just might be a crazy person. Who plays with his own poop. With a tow truck.

Luckily Vanerellian is the sweetest thing on God's green earth, along with Janelleybean. She was very, very nice about it. But, just in case I wasn't embarrassed enough....

I start bawling. Like snot-running-down-your-nose-faster-than-you-can-wipe-it bawling. Heaving. Sobbing. Freaking the F out. In front of poor Vanerellian. I am freaking out about Lil'Dude, and telling her how I just can't take it anymore, and how I just have no idea what to do. Poor Vanerellian is like "Okay crazy person, just don't frighten her and maybe she'll go away." Sadly I think I sat there for 15 minutes like that. Sobbing.


 And for some unknown reason Vanerellian is also now one of my best friends. I either am just darned lucky or I'm so amazing that these amazing friends just flock to me.

I mean, not to toot my own horn, but I do always lose at the slots...sooooo....

Now you have it. The two most embarrasing moments of (hopefully) my parenting life.

"The Lake" Incident

Okay ladies and gents....today is Lil'Guy's turn to take part in my parenting lack-of-awesomeness.

Remember "The Phone" Incident? Well, this isn't quite up there. Not quite as embarrassing or horror-struck, like "The Poop" Incident....but again, that's for another post.

Interested yet? You should be.

So, to set the stage for "The Lake" Incident, let me paint you a picture. Beautiful Spring day. Easter Sunday. I think. Let's say Easter Sunday-ish. We, like the fantastic super fun parents we are, are taking our boys fishing for the first time.

We have all the equipment...

Lovely huh?

Ew.

I had to touch worms. Nasty. That earns me some points already. 

Don't worry. I'm going to lose all of them in a second.

Fun times right? We. Rock.

So we go to the main lake to our neighborhood. We are fishing. We are laughing. We are loving. We are rocking this fishing trip.

"Christopher, you are going to need to back up from the lake. You'll trip."

"No, really, Christopher, stop trying to grab the fish in the water, you are going to fall."

"Christopher!!!"

*SPLASH*

"Oh &%$#*!"

Yup. He fell in.

That patch of deliciousness is moss.

It came from here.

Ew.

By this time all you hear is our laughter, huge uproars.

I even think I pee'd my pants a little.

Needless to say Christopher was NOT amused.

"The Phone" Incident.

Let me tell you a little story. Pull up your napsack and let me recount the most embarrassing moment of my parenting life.

Scratch that. One of the two most embarrassing moments. There is "The Phone" and the "The Poop" incident.

Let me just preface this by saying that Lil'Dude was a very very hard one / two year old. He wasn't Mr. Attitude like Lil'Guy. He was all over the place. I know what you're thinking "all two year olds are". Well take what your vision of a normal two year old would act like that and triple it. No, quadruple it. Then add in a kid that is extremely balanced, coordinated, and can and does get into everything that a five year old can. Oh, and with a curiousity that never ends. Ever.

Eeeeeeeeever. Foreeeeeeever. Ha ha, Sandlot. Good times. That is a whole other post though.

This particular parenting fail is "The Phone" incident. We'll talk about "The Poop" incident later. But first I have to set the stage for you. I had just joined a playgroup, my very first playgroup. Lil'Dude was about 2 and Lil'Guy was....uhhhh.....16 months younger than that. Mom of the year right here.

I had just got invited to a playdate (my very first) swimming at one of the lovely ladies homes. Let's call her Jannellybean. I mean it's a fake name - let's have it be fun right? I was on my best parenting behavior. Cutest clothes were worn, boys were prepared with the proper threats.

So we go to Jannellybean's house and there is also a couple of other moms there with their kiddos. We are all getting our kids dressed in swimsuits. That is so not as simple as it sounds. Between the swimtrunks, the swim diapers, the sunscreen, it's like wrestling cats. In water. Next to a herd of deer. In the rain. On the moon.

Eh hem.



There is a gate around the pool for kids, so the kids are all standing outside the gate. I can't begin to tell you the amount of anxiety I am feeling at this moment just having Lil'Dude outside without me. The kids begin to throw beach balls up over the fence into the pool. It's fun, they are laughing, I am relaxing.

Then.


Then it happens. *cue the music*

The back door is open. I am inside. Lil'Dude is outside. He walks inside. Our eyes meet. Then we both look over to the right slowly and see it. The phone. Jannelleybean's new phone. On the coffee table. Our eyes meet again. I am now terrified as I literally can see the idea pop into his head. He reaches out. Time slows.

At the same time I start to move, he finds the phone. Starts running to the back door with said phone. I begin to scream "Noooooooo" he runs faster, time picks up pace. Then all time stops.


The phone is now being thrown over the gate. Into the pool. I am running, knocking over Lil'Guy on the way, who starts screaming. The phone drops into the pool. Jannelleybean jumps into the pool fully clothed to retrieve the phone. Lil'Dude turns to look smugly at me, defiance writing on his face. That is what throws me over the edge.

I am steaming at this point. Since this is playgroup, I want to discipline the "right" way, so what is that? What do you do when all you want to do is sucker punch your child. Then catch the first flight to Reno, screaming "I am so out of here!" with a wierd twitch in your eye to never be recovered from. But I pulled it together. Despite the horrible things I wanted to do to my child at the time, which the only thing stopping me at that point was the threat of jail. Which to be frank sounded like a vacation at the time.

I did what all good parents would do, set Lil'Dude firmly in timeout, promising them the multitude of punishments to come when we are home through gritted teeth. Tears forming in my eyes from straining to keep the smile plastered on my face at new mommy friends while wondering if they think the smoke coming out of my ears is weird.

The day I almost literally died of embarrassment. And fury.

Thankfully Janelleybean was awesome, is awesome, and is one of my best friends now.

"The Look."
This was "The Lotion" incident, which isn't even in the top 100 of "times Lil'Dude got into stuff". I just happened to snap a pic.

(no children were harmed during this incident. Despite my fury. )