The kids have discovered this blog, and they want in.

Nora, Henry, and Everett have learned about this blog, and they want in.

Well, Nora and Henry at least have done a few drawings so far that they want me to add. Immediately.

These are Henry's drawings of our dog.

I guess this is the dog trying to stick his tongue in his mouth or something?

This is the dog laying on top of Henry when he is lying on the floor.

I am not certain I can translate Nora's.

This first one is a real brother vs. fake brother thing, I think.

I am guessing this is another brother thing.

I am pretty sure this one is showing how the cat lays in her bed and rips out all his fur there on the regular. Also, I guess he snuggles with one of her stuffed animals.

So, there you go. I don't know how often this will happen, but it's happening!

Do You Want to Build a Snowman? It Doesn't Have to be a Snowman.

Nora's equivalent to Anna asking Elsa to build a snowman is asking me to draw with her. So, it was fitting to draw our favorite Frozen characters.

Nora, of course, loves all the characters.

Hopefully, you can guess who my favorite is.

Nora and I Drew Each Other - September 2014

We were in a bit of a hurry when we did these, but Nora asks often if we can draw together. Sometimes, I make time to actually do it.

WARNING: Not for the Weak Stomach. This Happened.

Over the past few weeks, we, as a family, have been riddled with all kinds of sicknesses. It's been kind-of ridiculous, but we were all on the verge of getting better. Thee of the five of us have been on antibiotics, and things were starting to look less miserable.

Today started out as such a nice, little Sunday. We woke up (REALLY early, daylight savings time just ended, and the kids don't care about that). We went to church. We raked some leaves. The boys took a nap. Then, Henry woke up and was moving very slowly.

We handed him a bucket.

Not long after that, he perked up and asked for some Goldfish. I obliged (but also asked, "Are you sure about that, little buddy?").

Shortly after the snacking, I decided to bathe all the kids before dinner. (They had all dove into some filthy leaves earlier in the day and looked like something that came out of an old chimney. So, it needed to happen.)

I probably should've been at the ready when Henry asked the question, "Hey, Mom. What happens if you throw up in the bath?"

Just after pulling Henry out of the tub, Henry ran around the corner (out of the bathroom, of course), and this happened in the hallway. On carpet.

Note that he is puking ONTO the dog that is eating his vomit. Everett and I watch in horror.

I kid you not, as the kid was between heaves, he turned his head to say to Willis and me, "Are you guys going to eat dinner without me!?"

Then, he cried when all we gave him was dry toast.

After this scene (and cleaning it up), I had to sit down for a few minutes to recuperate. I was touch and go for awhile. I'm still a little borderline reliving the scene, honestly. I had to document it, though. This is classic stuff.

So, by the way, this is why I don't have new carpet.

Potty Training, Carpet Staining

My littlest has taken quite well to potty training so far. Actually, it probably shouldn't be called potty training. Let's just call it potty letting in my house. The word training assumes that I'm actively doing something to help my son along in this process. The reality is, I just forget to put pants on him.

In fact, this kid is so enthusiastic about potty training, he takes care of his potty himself . . .


. . . by running the full bucket, across the house, to the big toilet. (Do you like my censorship!? Haha!)

My middle child did the same thing, too, but back then, we didn't have carpet on every single floor surface like we do here.

So, I'm pretty glad we haven't, um, replaced the old carpet yet. Clearly.

Sweeping

This morning, I was tasked with sweeping our very large driveway so that Willis could seal it when he returns from work. It sounds simple enough, but with three kids, it isn't. I don't know what it is about a kid and a broom, but there is some magical force that actually makes them stand where sweeping needs to happen—even if there's hundreds of square feet of available space surrounding.

"Hey, buddy. Could you stand not there?"

Hiatus?

Whoopsie. I guess it's been over a year since I've even had time to sit down and sketch the chaos. Believe me, though, I've got a ton of material stored up in my mind vise. I'm hopin' to have time to crush it.

In the meantime, random stuff like this happens on occasion with my drawing-obsessed 5-year-old.

We were drawing each other. She was super serious. She chose my colors.

Good times! Hopefully, there will be more. Soon.

For Dudes: How to Be Adorable

I don't talk a lot about my husband on Facebook or blogs, etc. That's usually because I'm trying not to embarrass the bejabbers out of him. Plus, we generally do a pretty good job about communicating with each other, you know, verbally.

However, in this particular instance, I feel that it is my humanitarian duty to share with potential fathers/husbands some important skills on how to be completely adorable (and awesome). Because Willis is just that.

(I know. Gross. Sorry.)

It's important information, though. Pay attention.

First off, work hard at your day job, but make your family a priority. Spend time with your wife and your kids. (I didn't feel like that necessarily warranted a picture, but it's a major point.)

Secondly, and I know it's totally cliché, but change your kids' diapers. Seriously. Even if they are cloth diapers. Just do it. The ladies will notice. Poo is gross, but if you wash your hands afterward, it won't kill you.


Secondly, try to at least learn to cook, and actually do it. Even on a week night. Even if you worked all day. Even if it's just grilled cheese. (Willi's actually quite good at cooking, now, by the way, but I digress.)


And the most adorable thing a guy can do on this earth? Load up all of the kids and take them to the grocery store for a serious, real grocery run while Mom gets to stay back and accomplish a couple of things . . . and maybe take a shower. (Mom may even do something others would consider "manly" like mow the lawn or something. You never know.)


Oh, and for extra credit, do all of those things in one day sometimes. That's hot.

Bookmark it, boys.

From the Bowels of House Purgatory

Well, I was going to hold off until we moved to pick this back up again, but since we are living in . . .


. . . I have to have some sort of outlet to help fill my mind with other things besides rage, obsession, and annoyance. Plus, there's just so much classic comedy going on that I have missed already. It needs to be documented.

First off, our littlest has started developing and displaying his personality, and he's hilarious. He's also fairly cute (I recognize the potential for bias, here, but it's important to remember that we think he is when I continue my post).

There's a little more detailed sketch for you so you can get an idea that he's somewhat handsome and charming, little fellow.

Lately, he's taken to trying to stand up on his own. It looks a lot like this. (The giant bottom represents his huge, cloth diaper.)

He's constantly smiling, by the way.

While this is a wonderful milestone happening, it's also completely terrifying. That means that he can do things like this:



He also enjoys dabbling in Henryisms (Henry is our middle child)—like unrolling, shredding, and eating toilet paper.


It's great fun!

He also climbs stairs, now. Isn't that great?

I think I'm going to die early.

Moving

I'll admit it. I timed this blog terribly. I do plan to pick it up again (God knows I have a ton of material to sketch and gab about these days).

Unfortunately, it's going to probably be a couple of months (that could be optimistic) before I can get back into it. Why, do you ask? We're moving.


That's right. We're taking our Little Nutter Nuts, we're packin' up their stuff, and we're moving to another house.

Are we insane, or what?

Actually, we've packed up most of their toys already (in storage so that we could, you know, sell our house), so they're about to revolt.

I know this illustration is lame, but that's really all I had time to do. I only did this one because I had other stuff I had to scan anyway. Haha. Sorry.

But, soon! I'll be back soon! Don't forget about me!

Death by Stairs

My posts over the next month are going to be fairly limited as I tend to spend a lot of time making homemade Christmas gifts this time of year. Plus, I have a day job that isn't parenting that I do while I'm parenting. So, enjoy this one while you can! I plan to pick this thing up again when I finish up all my work and Christmas stuff!

My laundry room is down in my basement. The majority of my kids' toys are in the basement as well. So, every time I bring laundry downstairs, there's a significant risk of death or paralysis.


Also, note that my cat is darting under my feet at that exact moment, as well. He's cool like that. And, by cool, I mean heinous.

So . . . if nobody can find me, I could be lying on the basement floor amidst toys and laundry. Note that, please. Thanks.

Total. System. Reboot.

As much as I complain about the nuttiness of this household, nothing could've prepared me for the love overload that happens whenever I see this:


There is pretty much nothing in life that compares.

And, that's the face I make when it happens. Total. System. Reboot.

The Baby-Proofing is Not Enough

In case you're lacking in climbing, crazy, little boys in your household, let me just give you a little peek.



Yep. This stuff happens. A lot. In fact, if you have this going on, you actually get to a point where you say a little prayer of "thanks" to God when kids like this make it to their next birthday.

Bank Trip

I had to go into the bank one day because they had, like, two tellers in the whole place running both the drive-through and the counter. I originally started in the drive-through, but I had to leave (after I sent my money through the vortex-teleportation device, of course). I was going to be late to pick up Nora (I seriously sat there in my car by the vortex-teleportation device for 20 minutes after being greeted once).

Never would I attempt to go into a bank with what I've got going on these days, but I did this, very nearly, to prove a point. What was my point? You do not want me to come inside your bank, so you'd better tell me that my money is okay, like, pronto.

I'm hoping they learned their lesson. This was not a surprise scene for me, but that doesn't make it any less annoying.

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.

Sleep-Deprivation Correction

It must be sleep-deprivation (and also, it is symbolic of the life that this poor baby leads), but I completely forgot that I was holding the baby in this scenario from my previous blog post:



So, when you look at that one, imagine my pointing arm being also full of a very heavy baby. That also helps to explain why I'm not detangling my other son with that "free hand" or drinking that Coke that with that other "free hand."

Yeah. Wow.

Oh, Forget About It!

Making appointments or simple phone calls is pretty much impossible these days.

I don't know what it is about me being on the phone that makes my kids freak out and need me right then. I try and sneak away from them to make a call (you know, if they're, like, engrossed in a snack or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse or something), and without fail, they always find me and choose that moment to want to play, to complain about their attire, or to projectile vomit. It's uncanny.


I especially can't just answer the phone and expect to have a normal conversation without experiencing something similar to these scenes.

Also, for some reason, any time the phone rings, I'm elbows deep in a dirty diaper either here:


Or, here:


(I'm spraying out a dirty diaper in the toilet, here, in case you're curious.)

So, if you're wondering why I never seem to call (or answer the phone), wonder no more. And, you're welcome.

Pet Rage Post

I really hadn't intended to whine about my pets in two, consecutive blog posts, but I have to. I'm so incredibly enraged by my dog right now, that I absolutely have to blow off some steam with a rage blog post so that I don't lie in bed and fume about him all night long. I tried walking several blocks right after this particular incident (of which the description is forthcoming, by the way) initially to try and cool down, but I'm still coming down off it.

Side note: this is probably too much information, but once I returned from my rage walk, I nursed my baby and made some comment like, "Gee. I hope rage doesn't transfer through breast milk."

I don't think it did.

Without further ado, here are three, recent offenses that have honked me off royally with this dog. (And, I have a daily offense that he does that I intend to blog about at a later date, but this will have to do for now.)

































Any time I forget to wipe off the table after the kids eat, or if, gasp, the cat decides to hurl on the dining room table (that honks me off, too, by the way), I get to discover this, little gem. One day, I have grand designs of refinishing (buffing) that table when my kids get older and when that dog/cat combo croaks on us one day.

Ah, yes. Who could forget the infamous birthday cake scarfage? Yep. The dog freaking ate half of my kid's birthday cake whilst it was cooling. I about flipped a biscuit that day, too.

You know what he did tonight, though? I baked six awesome, round loaves (for bread bowls for a broccoli cheddar soup I made over the weekend), and I had three of them left. Do you see where this is going?

That punk freaking lifted off that covering and scarfed ALL THREE LOAVES without leaving a single crumblet behind. I was so furious, I actually had to go for rage walk at 8 p.m. I've never needed a rage walk before, and you know what? It wasn't quite long enough. Thus, the rage blogging.

He has never lifted the cover off of anything and eaten it off the counter, and I am just nuts with fury. I feel like every time I bake, the jackelope has to eat half of it. I can't stand it. He never used to be this crafty . . . or hungry.

He also left some scratches on my new stove that I'm hoping will buff off with time. Nay, he's hoping.

And, do you know what he does every single time he does these things—even if I don't catch him in the act (which, by the way, of these there incidents, I only caught him finishing off the last of the bread)?

This.

Yes. It's huge (the picture) for a reason.

He knows it's wrong. He knows he did something bad. But you know what? The jerk just can't help himself.

WANT TO PUNT!