Consequences

Last night was not the greatest in terms of planning. I defrosted a roll of phyllo dough for dinner (thinking it was a pork tenderloin), so we decided to go out to eat. You know, to celebrate writing a check to the government, to bail out all those who don't pay their bills to do our civic duty.

So, on the way to dinner we take a good look at our children who are beginning to look like they have been raised by wolves, and decide to get a quick haircut first (does it EVER work out that way, though?)

We sit, waiting 30 minutes for a 2 minute haircut (#3 all over, please), while Peacemaker and Helper Munchkin begin to ACT like they've been raised by wolves. The Big Guy and I look at each other and realize that we are quickly loosing control.

We finally get them the hell out of there and sit down to dinner. The two little guys go to the bathroom and the Big Guy gives #1 Son a dollar to play a game in the lobby while we wait for dinner. He explains that the little kids won't get one because they were bad...but don't tell them that.

Then the kids return and Big Guy loses his mind and announces (like a proclamation, Here Ye, Here Ye...) "Your brother just went to play a video game with $1 because he was good. You will not get one because you were not good." I shoot him a look that says "It's your funeral." and the crying and fit throwing begins in earnest at our booth. (Big Guy actually thought he was going to watch the Penguin playoff game after that little diddy!)

So, this is a rundown of the conversation that ensued. Just read the following with the sound of Peacemaker crying "I want a dollar! It's not fair, it's not fair!" on a loop in the background.

Helper Munchkin: "Why can't we have a dollar?!"

Exhausted Mom: "It's called consequences."

Peacemaker (stops his chant for a moment): "What's con-see-ences?"

Mom: "It means when you do something bad, something bad happens to you."

Helper Munchkin: "Where did you read THAT?!"

Mom (staring at Big Guy and replying in a very dry tone): "In the Parenting Handbook."

Peacemaker and Helper Munch (wailing): "Give us a dollar, toooooooo!"

Mom: "No, I'm sorry. Not today."

Dad to Peacemaker (ever helpful): "You have a booger sticking out of your nose. Get it, it's driving me crazy!" (I look at him, incredulous)

Now, here is the piece de resistance...Peacemaker very deliberately reaches in for the booger, displays it on the tip of his finger, then wipes in on his pant leg with gusto. Like, "Oh, yeah, you won't give me a buck? Well, I'm going to wipe a booger on my pants, you meanies!"

Mom: "Well, that sure showed me!"

End Scene...

A Day in the Life

This is a very typical conversation in my house, and actually took place this week. Come, be a fly on the wall and experience my daily struggle:

Helper Munchkin: Momma, where are we gonna put Pipa when she dies? (that's our dog, she's only 3 years old)

Jennifer Juniper: Well, she's only a puppy and she isn't going to die for a long time.

H.M.: Yeah, but where are we gonna put her? How long, when I'm 60? Wait, how old is Daddy? Is he gonna die first?

J.J.: Um, I don't think you need to worry about it yet, but probably down in the woods someplace.

H.M.: We need to spend all day to dig a big hole and then use the wood from your frames to make a box, because it isn't right to put the dirt right on her. How old will I be when she dies? When do I get to see someone who dies? Can I see Grammy if she dies? (are all 6 year olds as obsessed with death???)

J.J. : Let's just say it will be a really long time, you don't need to worry.

H.M. : Well, I'm not staying home with a babysitter if Grammy dies!

He freaks me out!!! He has been obsessed with death for about a year, along with running out of gas on the highway and having enough money to pay for groceries. Such big worries for such a little guy. He has a whole timeline for our expiration, the fish, then Pipa, then Daddy, Mommy, and brothers with him last since he's the youngest. My little planner.

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