I can't bring myself to laugh at most of what W. does. Like just now he put a coat on L's head and said, "Look! Look Mom! An eskimo!!" Should I fake laugh? I don't know. It certainly wasn't funny. I generally disagree with telling a kid they're good at everything, they poop stars and rainbows, and that they can be an NBA star if they want it bad enough because, well, I don't believe it's true. Being a comedian is not in his future. Mark my words.
Steve and I sometimes refer to them as "those people." When they're being particularly unruly.
Right now there is an insane amount of noise happening behind the chair I'm sitting in. Insane any time but mostly insane for 7:45 am. When is the bus coming??? Please. Come. And soon (when I blog, I think their volume automatically goes up. Just like it does when I'm on the phone.)
I put sleep aids in their dinner.
Just kidding, totally just kidding.
Unless they are leaking green or yellow from all orifices, they go to school. If it's clear, school. All but one orifice, school.
No, that's a joke too.
When W. asked us, over and over last weekend, to play with him, I told him, "That is why your Dad had 4 of you. So you would play with each other." (Side note: I did play a few rounds of Hangman, and Apples to Apples with him, so I am not entirely evil, but seriously, the boy does not self-entertain for very long.)
I really do love them, just so you know. Sometimes I just can't handle their morning-energy. I like to ease into my morning with a cup of tea and a quiet 30 minutes. They are ready and roaring to go. Especially W. Every single morning. Maybe I am feeding him too healthy.
Any other bad Moms out there? Give it up. Tell me.