Okay... I'm procrastinating. I know I'm procrastinating. School is a week and a half away and I don't want to think about it. I've got four brand new textbooks sitting in my living room (taking up a lot of space, actually) and I look at them and put my hands over my ears and squinch my eyes shut and shout "La la la la la la la la..." Every working mother knows this feeling. I don't want to leave my babies. Ever. Because one day I will drop them off at day care in the morning, fabulously cute at two and a half years and four months, and I will go pick them up again in the evening and they will be four and two, and the very next day, I'll only be picking up one of them because the other one will be in Kindergarten and then they'll both be in Middle School and I WILL HAVE MISSED THE WHOLE PLOZTING THING! Don't tell me I'm being overdramatic...it's happened to me before.
So I'm putting off my "I want to go back to school" blog for one more entry and showing the world that Mate and I are raising a brood of media-addicted banter-geeks. And we're wierdly proud of that. Here is a sterling example.
Last night, my husband was going into Target to buy VEE FOR VENDETTA (fabulous movie!) leaving me, four children, and our best friend Wendy (sitting in back between the middle schoolers) to occupy ourselves. I had my knitting (the jughead hat in some army camo Fortissima for my dad) but everybody else got bored. Kewyn threw down his Pooh-bear doll and started screeching to have it back, and verbal chaos ensued.
Wendy, (cruelly dangling the Pooh in front of Kewyn's arms as he flails about in his car seat) "You want the Pooh? You really want the Pooh?"
Bryar, (doing her best Jack Nicholson) "You can't HANDLE the Pooh!!!"
Mom, (now channelling the monkeys from MADAGASGAR "But if you have any feces on you, throw them now!"
Kewyn, in the meantime, gets his Pooh-bear back and throws it at his brother, who says, "That is a good bear...for me to POOP ON!!! (Triumph the Insult Comic Dog...kids love him--eesssh!) and what followed was a repeat of that morning, when dad had used the same line. Kewyn starts screaming "Poop on! Poop on! Poop on!!" With so much toddler delight that not even the thought of horrified grandmothers on our next public outing can keep me and the rest of the over-stuffed minivan from giggling for the next ten minutes. Dad gets back to the car and wonders why we're laughing like morons, and we tried to explain it to him (of course he was embarrassed because he started the whole Triumph the Insult Dog thing) but he didn't really get the full flavor until this morning.
This morning, Dad is picking up the yard, and Kewyn screams, "Dad, you've got DOG POOP!!!" and then laughs like a maniac, and Matt and I, being the bad parents we are, couldn't be prouder. "Did you hear that?" I said, wiping away an imaginary tear. "Our boy said 'Poop'!"
To which my spouse replied, "Poop keeps you warm!" (God love Eddie Izzard...may he live longer than his silicone boobs...)
And it ocurrs to me. Our children are doomed. And now I REALLY don't want to go back to work.