Monday Hunger Games

I guess you could say I’m using my college degree. I mean, the two year old is currently playing with my diploma, so…

 

I really should get that thing framed, but he screams at me every time I try to take it away and mama don’t have time for that. Not before coffee. My friend, Katy, says that our lives as stay at home moms are basically a never ending version of The Hunger Games. Only we didn’t know what it really meant to volunteer as tribute and our braids are not as cool.

 

Ev’s wearing cowboy boots and pajamas. He’s also been the source of almost everyone’s tears this morning. Maybe that’s not really fair…I mean, in his defense, the girls are operating in full out Charlie Brown mope mode today. As in, “I made Daddy this neckalace and he isn’t heah, and I can’t do annnnyfing, nuuffing, I caaaaaann’tuuuuhhh!” And then they mope out of the room like this:

 

Never mind that the man’s been at work since, like 6 am. And they saw him leave because they wake up before dawn like devil children.

 

Fights and Meltdowns I’ve already refereed today:

• “I just want to cook the food, but you’re NOT. LETTING. ME.”
• “It’s NOT apple sauce! It’s PEACH apple sauce!!”
• Everett called Lily a bully. She then “rawr-ed” at him, thus, “She woared at’a me and make’a me saaaaaaaaaadddddd…”
• Me: You may not have pretzels until you’ve finished your breakfast.

Ev: That’s cooooffffeeeee.

Me: ??

Ev: That’s coffee on’a my bananaaaaaaaaa.

It wasn’t.

 

So, for those of you in the arena with me, I salute you. I’m gonna go wrestle my wallet out of some two year old claws and pray my debit card isn’t lost.

 

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Monday Confessions

1.) Few things are more disgusting or irritating than a toddler with dog food on her breath. Again.

2.) Really, the only thing that trumps the dog food is finding an old used bandaid stuck to my sock. Again.

I’ve thrown that daddgum thing away about ninety times so I’m fairly certain that someone is digging it out of the trash can. Don’t you worry. The culprit will be found and punished and I will tape that trash can shut, and cement it if I have to…and then they’ll find some supernatural way of doing it again because they’re X Men or something. Tomorrow there will be a bandaid on my sock, mark my words.

3.) The good news is I’ve found a humane way to get away with putting my kids in a box and leaving the room.

Sometimes I even shut the lid and shake the box. They love it and I get to release pent up aggression about the continued consumption of dog food and the bandaid issue. It’s a win/win, y’all.

And for a Monday, that’s all you can really ask for.