Friday, March 28, 2008

Note to Self: Never Go Shopping with 3 Toddlers!

I recently braved taking the General, the Tank and the Destroyer to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription for the Destroyer, and some feminine products for myself. Taking all three of my cadets to the store is something I try to avoid at all costs. Mostly because I spend more time apologizing to those around me, for my children's behavior, than I spend shopping. This trip to the pharmacy was no different.

From the minute we entered the store, all eyes were on us. Mostly because the Destroyer was crying, in agony. Whether it was the pain of his cold or the pain of the Tank trying to rip his leg off, I am still not sure.

I quickly threatened the Tank and told him that if he continued to act up that he wouldn't get to go to Grandpa's house later. A solid threat, so I thought. But instead of retreating to my side quietly, the Tank took off like a ragging hyena in search of fresh prey.

As I followed the clatter of the Tank's wake, muttering apologies as I passed frown after frown on people just shaking their heads in disbelief at my total lack of control over my children. I quickly loaded my cart with my feminine products as fast as I could and bolted toward the pharmacy counter.

When I got to the counter the clerk informed us that the Destroyer's prescription wasn't ready yet. So there I was with a crying infant and now two insanely hyper toddlers. You can imagine all the friends I was making.

When our turn finally came, I asked my guys to make themselves useful and unload the cart for Mommy. Little did I know that unloading a box of tampons and a package of maxi-pads would be so thrilling. But as the General lifted the pack of maxi-pads from the cart, the Tank tackled him and ran off with the pads screaming, "I want to hold Mommy's special band-aids!"

Monday, March 10, 2008

The Destroyer got a haircut!

Beware! The smile gets you every time!

Monday, March 3, 2008

Someone's in need of a whooping and it isn't Momma...

One of the trickest things I find about parenting is that no matter how hard I try to teach my children what is right, there is always someone who is better and quicker at teaching them something wrong.

The other night the Tank was impatiently waiting for me to frost his Grandpa's birthday cake. He was hovering over the cake like a vulture waiting to swoop in for the kill.

"Back away from the cake," I pleaded with the Tank as he poked wholes into its side.

"No, I want to frost it!" replied the Tank as he made a second pass around the perimeter of the cake.

"Back away from cake!" I commanded. "You need to be patient, we have to wait for it to cool."

The Tank took his eyes off his prey momentarily to look at me and whispered, "I'm gonna kick your ass."

"What did you say?" I asked genuinely shocked. Neither myself or my husband would ever sputter such harsh words.

Before he could even answer me, the Tank retreated to the naughty corner.

I approached him and asked again, just encase I misheard him, "What did you say?"

The Tank timidly replied, "I said I'm going to kick your ass if you don't let me frost the cake."

Nope. I had heard correctly. All I could think was: where would he learn such words; and if there is going to be an ass kicking around here, I'll be giving it!

I collected my cool and reminded the Tank about manners. I told him that when he was ready to apologize to me that he could come out of the corner.

Just as I turned to walk away the tank sweetly called my name, "Mommy."

"Yes, is there something you would like to say to me?" I asked.

"I'm sorry for saying that I was gonna kick your ass," whispered the Tank.