That's the Way the Cookie Crumbles

Remember that science lesson in elementary/middle school where we learn about the difference between physical and chemical changes? It's really hard to teach that lesson to a quirky two-year-old.

When my kids finish their lunch or dinner, they are allowed to have a cookie. Most days, it's just an Oreo, but sometimes, they score it big and get a chocolate chip cookie (if my husband or I had the motivation to bake some).

My eldest son is typically very excited about getting a chocolate chip cookie. In fact, he'll sit there for about two whole minutes with a giant, surprised expression on his face, much like this:



Then, after much verbal motivation from me, he finally starts to eat the cookie. He very quickly discovers that the cookie is soft (how I like 'em), and the cookie falls apart. This usually involves him yelling, "OH, NO!" followed by something that looks like this:

Yep, those are some rage tears.

I try to explain to him over and over that the cookie is still a cookie and still very much delicious, but he refuses to believe it. Usually, it takes his sister asking, "Mommy, if he isn't going to eat his cookie, can I eat it?" before he wises up and eats the cookie pieces. Goofball.

Tap Tap Taparoo

Every weekday morning, it's always the same thing. I try, frantically, to get the kids something to eat. I try to make sure the baby is okay so that I can get something to eat (and try to get coffee into my system as fast as possible). Then, I might even try to clean up part of the house or throw in a load of laundry, if I think it's possible.

As you may well know by now, I find my dog to be largely annoying. He eats half of just about everything I bake. He eats napkins. He waits until we're not paying attention, and he gets into our bed and sheds everywhere and leaves "questionable prints" on our pillows and sheets (typically after I've just washed and changed the bedding).

There is one thing that he does every single day that makes me want to punt him. He tap dances around me until I go downstairs (in the basement) and feed him. It looks a lot like the following:



Imagine a ridiculous and constant tapping sound as his paws contact the floor.

These are his tap dancing moves. Up and down and up and down and tappy tappy tap tap tap. Tap tap taparoo!



This is me, every weekday morning, at my wit's end with the dog. I'm pretty sure I can be heard saying things like, "Knock it off, dog!" or, "Calm down, ding-dong!"

I'm not typically a morning person, but I'm not an un-morning person, if you know what I mean. The dog pretty much obliterates the easygoing nature from my soul every weekday morning when he's tap-tap-tapping around me while I'm trying to, like, feed my children and be a functional human being.

I recognize that he thinks he's absolutely going to die of starvation every morning, but I'd honestly rather he just stand there and bark at me over the tap dancing. He knocks stuff over. He runs into the kids. He sends my area rugs across the room because he tap dances across them. He pretty much delays getting fed because I'm too busy trying to undo his path of destruction as I'm trying to get to the task of feeding him.

Destroyer of Conversation

Our eldest son has a magical way of figuring out the exact moment that my husband or I will speak (to one another), and he emits some sort of voice-cancelling squawk. Every time.



We really have no idea how he does it. He's strangely proficient at it.

Most of our conversations have to happen when he is sleeping, which is pretty much never.

My Cat is a Jerk

It never fails. Every time I vacuum in my house, my cat feels the need to replace the summation of all the animal hair that I've removed in one fell swoop. It's a regularly scheduled, hot-button issue for me.

"Oh. Here are seven piles of cat hair chunks, a couple of claws (that I tore off myself),
and a couple of whiskers for your trouble. You're welcome."

Doctor's Office

Ever since I was, like, 12 months pregnant with my youngest, going to the doctor started to get really challenging. In fact, I tried everything at my disposal to try and dump at least one kid off so I could go to my OB appointments close to solo. It didn't always happen.

After my baby was born, something happened. Doctor appointments got worse. My 3.5-year-old (daughter) turned into a two-year-old, and my two-year-old (son) was the dominant influence. I attempted one appointment (for the baby) with the two of them in tow. Never again. Here's a scene from that:

Note how my hair has fly-aways. That's going to be a common theme in this blog. Also, note how my older son is mopping the floor with his body, and my daughter is clearing out the cobwebs behind the examination table with her rear end. They should've probably paid us for the housekeeping. Or not. There's some spilled juice and crackers (crumbled and not) on the floor, so . . . yeah.

This picture doesn't really show how ridiculously loud it was in the room. I'm not really sure how to depict that properly. Just imagine lots of screaming and interruptions every time the doctor tries to talk. Also, imagine me going to my happy place inside my head.