End-of-year insanity

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Are your children melting down and/or acting out in weird ways? Are they whining on continuous loop like Donald Trump? Mine too.

Do you suddenly find yourself with regular urges to go hermit and hide in your bed, far from all remaining requests to attend school functions, check homework and pack lunches for last field trips? Me too.

Are you exhausted and in utter disbelief that soon you face 14 weeks of summer "vacation"? Of course. We all are, even if we're excited for it.

It is that time of year. School is ending. No one gives a ball about spelling or fractions anymore. Your children have no pants left with both knees intact. Half their socks are missing. Their shoes have holes in the toes, but then again, maybe those help them fit better because really, when was the last time you bought the kids shoes? You let them eat in ways you never will in any given September, simply because you have lost the will to manage anything.

Case in point: Yesterday, at a Memorial Day pool party, Jack ate four hot dogs in buns slathered with an obscene amount of ketchup before inhaling two brownies and a s'more. I "tried" to tell him this wasn't a great combo, much less a wise amount, but did he hear me? No.

Did I step in? Not aggressively.

Did he feel like complete ass afterwards? Yes. 

Meanwhile, I want to sue Percy for emotional distress. Doesn't that damn dog know I have 900 teacher gifts to make? I don't feel like walking him in 85 degree weather. Not because I don't enjoy heat but because I know him, and in said heat, he gets just beyond our gate, rolls on to his back, pants maniacally and refuses to go. 

If we go back inside, the insane bark-fest resumes, and I want to kill him. So, I make him walk but what that really looks like is me dragging a pug on his back around the neighborhood while muttering curse words under my breath. It's ridiculous.

6½ days left, people. For us at least. And the next day Ol gets four more cavities filled which is obviously a superb way to celebrate the end of school. 

May the force be with us all!

Pillow talk and unclear words

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You guys, I recently bought a colorful pillow. Not like one color, but multiple colors in ring shapes atop a white background. It was from an online shop, and I felt sure it'd springify our living room. 

Pillows make me happy. They suggest comfort and coziness, like, maybe a nap or stint on the couch reading the paper is in my near future. 

They are also low-stress accessories- relatively inexpensive, flexible ways to change the look of a room. 

So anyway, this pillow spoke to me, and I ordered it. And when it arrived I immediately said to myself: "Oliver will love this pillow. Tom will hate this pillow, and I'm not sure about Jack." 

That afternoon, when the boys got home, Oliver said, "Ooh, I LOVE that pillow so much and wish I could have it for my room."

Jack said, "You know, I really like that pillow too." 

I said, "Awesome, guys. I think Dad is gonna hate that pillow, so let's not say anything and see when he notices and what he thinks." I knew full well Tom would not notice the pillow anytime soon, because he is male and cannot see things that are right in front of him, like leftovers in the fridge. And this pillow.

The boys desperately wanted Tom to cast eyes on the colorful square and made every effort to direct his gaze.  

It finally worked and Tom said, "That is an unbelievably ugly pillow. I don't think I could hate a pillow more." At this point, I was laughing so hard I couldn't breathe, and the kids were guffawing to beat sixty, and Oliver was going on and on about how we should just put this pillow in his room. Tom was in hysterics over just how mind-numbingly ugly he finds the pillow.

And that is the end of that. #familylifehumor

What do y'all think? Maybe it is ugly. I do not care anymore because I can't return it, and it can always go to Ol.

Last week, when Oliver was sick, he and I were playing one of his favorite games: would you rather? Ol has his own version of WYR which is that he juxtaposes a "not in a million" with a "quite possibly" with priceless deadpan.

I don't know how he first decided to ask WYR questions, but it began during spring break in 2014. We were driving around California, and from the back seat a little voice asked, "Would you raver have a house full of money, or die?"

Everyone about fell out and answered, "house full of money."

"Would you raver have a house full of money or have to jump in lava?"
"Would you raver have a house full of money or two houses full of money?"

This game persisted delightfully for quite some time and then, sadly, fell out of favor. Last week, however, Ol asked me, "Would you raver die just aftuh being born or be mordahr?"

"Murder??? What??? Oliver, what?"

"No, MORdahr!"

"Murnal?"

"Mom, no, MORDAHR!"

Because you know, he just cannot say 'r's or 'th's for the love.What the fuck is MORDAHR? I wracked my brain. He looked amused.

"Ol, I am so sorry, but can you explain this word to me?"

"Like when you can't die."

"Oh, IMmortal."

"Yeah, that's what I said."