Disaster Child

Okay, so I'm not your normal blogger. I probably should be more like all of you fellow bloggers out there and post more on birthdays, holidays, family happenings, etc. But I don't, and for a lot of reasons. First of all, I always get behind and I hate going back and posting on things that happened months (or even weeks) ago. I'd never catch up and I'd drive myself absolutely insane. So if any of you are waiting for a Fall or Halloween post, too bad- it's not gonna happen. My second reason for not conforming to normal blog standards is I like to post the stuff that makes me laugh- even if I can't laugh at some of it yet, I know I'll get a kick out of looking back at some of that crazy stuff later. If it's not things that makes me laugh, it's issues that I feel are worth trashing on. I don't know- maybe someday I'll regret not posting more journal-worthy things, but for now, I guess this is just my style. So where to begin? I have a lot of laugh-inducing material to document so I believe I'll start there. Then maybe I'll get to some heavier topics another day. Or maybe not. Anyways...

Any parent's greatest source of humor has to come from their kids, and that holds true for me as well. I'm not sure why, but it seems like the younger that kids are, the funnier they are. Scholars write books on understanding the opposite sex- Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus- that kind of crap. I think their time would be much better served trying to understand why kids do the things they do. My youngest Maycie monster is always a wealth of entertainment, and I honestly wish I could sneak a peek into the workings of her mind to see where she gets her inspiration. Though she is an absolutely delightful child, she is the epitome of the phrase chaos and destruction. I can't understand how she finds the energy to demolish room after room on a daily basis, and I have aged 10 years trying to keep up with her. I know all kids between the ages of 1-3 are known to get into everything, but my Maycie is special. She doesn't just get into any random cupboard and empty it, she tends to pick favorites. Right now she is specializing in the ones containing crayons, craft supplies including glass beads, and cleaning products (especially Windex). Tupperware is just too boring for her anymore. Even if I try to be clever and switch things around, she finds what she wants. As I recounted in a previous post, one of Maycies most favorite things to play with were tampons. Well, that is SO yesterday. She has discovered the joys of unwrapping Maxi Pads, peeling off the backings, and sticking them to things (usually herself). Whenever my doorbell rings, I have to take a minute to make sure there are no pads stuck to the stair railings, the TV, the furniture, or anything else in sight. Another very recent Maycie experience included calling poison control because she ate half a stick of deodorant. I'm not sure why this particular child revels in all things gross. Lets look back at her history, shall we? She started with emptying every garbage can she could get ahold of and playing with all the disgusting contents. Then she discovered that toilet caps come off and make fun toys. Moving on to tampons, maxi pads, and deodorant- I just don't want to think about what might be next. For those of you thinking, "why doesn't she put things up or strap that child in a highchair?" Here's your answer. This kid can climb. If she wants it, she'll find a way to get to it no matter where it's hidden or how high I put it. If something she wants is truly out of reach, then she'll just find something even worse to get into. As to restraining, we've tried everything. Maycie can get out of even the toughest strap systems. It doesn't matter how tightly they are done up, she'll wiggle free. For example, I bought a new counter chair that was recommended to me by a friend which has a five point harness system, but Maycie beat it. We even tried reinforcing it with en extra camera strap, but that didn't work either. I believe she'd even be able to find a way out of a straight jacket. If Houdini needs a new assistant in a few years, I'm sure he'll be wanting this minerature escape artist. The disasters are so frequent that I can't even get mad anymore. A couple of nights ago when my darling baby dumped a bottle of nail polish into my jetted master bathtub, exploding the entire bottle of bright neon blue everywhere, I couldn't even find any strength left in me to scold her. I just shrugged, rolled my eyes, and told my husband that we needed to get to work- it was going to be a long night. A couple of hours later when we were both exhausted and had headaches from all the fumes from paint thinner and nail polish remover, I looked at my angelic baby girl fast asleep in her bed and thought, "It's a good thing you're cute, kid, or you wouldn't have lasted this long." I'm getting smart in my old age and have been remembering to take pictures to document these incidents so I have proof that they really happened. I'm afraid that someday I'll look back and think there's no way any one kid was that much of a walking disaster. Time may dull memories, but pictures tell the true story. And on a side note, not every mess is a disaster. I still think it's cute when Maycie unloads every shoe in my closet then walks around the house in my heels (smart girl- they're her favorites). I just make my older kids clean up those kinds of messes while I sit back and smile. I tell them to chalk it up to good practice for someday when they have their own kids they have to constantly clean up after. Anyways, I have to take a break so I can go pick up the markers which my child just found and scrub the rainbow scribble off the kitchen floor. Thank goodness that this time these ones are washable. Next I have to put the toyboxes back together and clean up a pile of ripped-up magazines. Hopefully then I can get Maycie down for a blessed nap. Maybe I'll take a nap, too- honestly it'd be deserved, and I need to recharge my depleted batteries because who knows what kinds of shenanigans she'll get into when she wakes up?

What do you mean these aren't candy?



Yes, that is a Maxi Pad stuck to her leg.


Do you suppose the deodorant will make her poop smell better?




Hah! Another successful escape. What else you got?



What do you think- does this shade of blue go with my tub?


Hmm- which shoe? Does the black one make my thighs look big?


Doesn't that face just have mischief written all over it?



All right, I'm feeling guilty so here's a few pics of my kids from Fall/Halloween. It came, the kids had a blast at Cornbelly's, going goofy on Crazy Hair Day, dressing up for school and trick or treating, and it went. There- now no one can say I didn't do my blogging duty.

The Hunt

The title of this post sounds really exciting, doesn't it? My Husband would say the subject matter is in fact very exciting, but I'm not sure I really agree. This inhumane act of death is only being posted per request of my husband (and when I say request, I actually mean if I don't post it, he won't let me visit the mall any time soon). If it were up to me, the word "HUNT" would be added to the four letter word list and people's mouths' would get washed out with soap just for thinking it let alone actually doing it. I've never been a huge fan of hunting, probably because some great uncle of mine hung a decrepit old deer head up in our little family cabin. Every year we'd go, and my stinkin' brother would try to make me touch it's eyes or tell me it was going to come alive in the night and get me. So I guess it would be ironic that I'd marry a hunter. A month or so before we got married when my mind was not functioning properly due to the "potential wedded bliss erases all reason syndrome", my husband talked me into going dove hunting with him (this should have been a big sign, considering doves are the actual love birds of lore). He showed me how to shoot the shotgun, and I turned out to be a half-decent shot. I knocked one out of a tree, but when we found it at the base, it wasn't quite dead yet. My husband said I had to finish it off, but it looked at me with these sad, quivering, accusing eyes, and I just couldn't do it. I cried and went back to the car while Zane "put it out of it's suffering"- the suffering I had caused. So back to the point at hand. I never put up a fuss when Zane wants to go bird hunting, or worse, deer or elk hunting. I just pray that he doesn't hit anything so his soul will be saved from killing innocent animals and hope that the Man upstairs likes me better that day then Zane and his "please let me get that big one over there." So far my strategy has worked, but I forgot to factor in the fact that I now have two little boys that my husband is dying to turn into little hunters. Now I pitch a royal fit any time Zane talks about letting the boys touch a gun- if Dick Chaney can manage to shoot someone in the butt, imagine what damage little kids could do. So he just tells me he'll only let them walk along with him and watch. Yeah, right. Here's a picture of my son, Wyatt, with a huge pheasant that he shot himself last weekend. Zane was so proud he was practically dancing around the yard. When I got mad, he told me Wyatt shot it with a BB gun. Now I'm not stupid, a BB would have to hit a pheasant right between the eyes to kill it- he totally used Zane's shotgun. While I'm extremely proud that my son is such a great shot, I'm a little disappointed that he didn't seem to feel any sadness about killing that poor, defenseless bird. Probably because Zane was so darn excited for him. Don't worry, I've been trying to help the guilt along these past few days, so we'll see what happens. But little boys idolize their dads, so I'm not holding out much hope. Now I'm not trying to convince people that all hunting is bad. If we were ever starving, I'd have no problem shooting stuff to eat. But people who say they hunt because they like deer meat are totally lying, as well as people who say pheasants taste like chicken- they so DO NOT. Anyways, I'll stop my ranting now. If I've helped anyone out there to come into the light, I'll consider this post a success. And where these ARE pretty neat pics, I have to say to Wyatt- good job, son.