Everyone, Man your stations!

We call my youngest "The Destroyer" for a reason. He is like Godzilla and everything around him is Tokyo. He can make grown men whimper with fear in his presence. I swear I saw a tear in my husband's eye when the Destroyer smashed his DVR remote. And after the Destroyer's latest hazardous shenanigan, our local pre-school actually posted a sign with the Destroyer's picture and underneath it read: "BEWARE, do not be fooled by his size and boyish charm. He is extremely dangerous."

Previous to this posting, the Destroyer and I were accompanying the Tank to school. Under normal circumstances we would never take the elevator at school, but on this occasion both the Tank and I had our hands full of goodies to share with his class. So I caved and against better judgment, we took the elevator up one flight. And in less than 10 seconds, the Destroyer had put our ascent to an alarming halt! He had pushed the emergency fire alarm, which stopped the elevator and set off every flashing light and buzzer in the building.

The Destroyer stood motionless for a moment then proclaimed, "Opps! I sorry!"

The Tank literally dropped to the floor in tears, while several women started to shout up the elevator shaft, "Stay calm! We'll get you out of there. Not to worry!"

Stay calm, right. Visions of every fire truck and police car responding to this absurd incident danced in my head. I started to sweat in fear that I would be cited a hefty fine for falsely setting off a fire alarm.

What seemed like an eternity later, the doors opened and I emerged with the Tank and the Destroyer to every spectator in the building glaring sternly at us. Luckily, I saw no officers in sight. I offered my sincerest apologies and assurance that this would never happen again, then I continued to my son's class in a wake of embarrassment, all the while the Destroyer is heralding his mischievous nature to anyone who will listen, "I naughty! I make Mikey cry! I push button! I naughty!"

The next day as I sheepishly entered the building, with the Tank and the Destroyer strapped to my side, the woman behind the desk picked up her walkies-talkie, and I swear I heard her tell everyone to "man your stations."

Children. Side Effect: may cause severe headaches which may lead to severe eye twitching.

It's been my case now for several years that all children should come with warning labels. Everything else in the world has one, I mean really it doesn't take a genius to figure out that you shouldn't blow dry your hair while bathing. But it would be nice however, if someone would have warned me that a two year old, who can't reach a door knob yet, can some how figure out how to escape his room and exit our home undetected at 6am and walk to his grandparent's house.

Case in Point:

I've never been one to get frequent headaches, until recently. And by recently, I really mean, the headaches actually started about five years ago (around the time of the General's arrival). And as with my children, over time they have become out of control and more aggressive. Sometimes, the pressure is so bad that my eye actually will begin to spasm. So, a friend of mine recommended that I go and get my eyes tested.

This sounded reasonable to me. I actually have been having vision trouble lately.

So I made appointment and off I went to the eye doctor.

"So what brings you hear today?" asked Dr. M

I explain to him that I've been having headaches and that my right eye frequently twitches, which I think, although I am no expert, may be related to my newly developed vision impairment.

I don't see half the crap my kids do until it's too late, like the time I punctured my hand because I didn't see the nail that the Tank was using to prop his ninja turtle's convoy up so he could change its tire.

"Ok, let's take a look at your eyes," says Dr. M. "But I have to tell you, usually eye twitching is a result of stress, lack of sleep or too much caffeine. Could any of these be affecting you?"

DING! DING! DING! How could I not have seen the writing on the wall? "I have three BOYS under five. My life revolves around stress, and I live off of little sleep and a whole lot of coffee. So yes, all of the above."

After the eye examine the kind Dr.M wrote me a prescription for some drops that he assured me will stop any eye spasm. He also recommended getting more sleep. "Can you fax that one to my husband and children?" I asked a little to earnestly.

Seriously, this is just reason #121 why children should come with warning labels. When you exit the hospital, upon discharge, your nurse should hand you a list clearly outlining all side effects and impending hazards; like, may cause severe headaches, which can lead to severe eye twitching."

For Emergency Use Only!

Last Friday, The Tank woke up from his nap. All groggy and wiping sleep out of his eyes, he asked me, "Why can't I say shit?"

Just in case I misheard him the first time I asked, "What?"

"Why can't I say Shit?" he asked again.

"Because shit is a swear word and swear words are naughty. So we don't use them when we speak."

I could tell the tank was cooking up something as I saw the wheels cranking in his little noggin. Then he inquired, "But what if it was an emergency? Could I say shit then?"

"What kind of an emergency would happen that you would have to say that? " I asked.

The Tank answered, "You know, if there was a fire. Or if a coyote was chasing me. Because, if I coyote was chasing me, then I'd have to say Oh Shit!"

Pass the buck!

I read somewhere once, "The easiest way to teach children the value of money is to borrow some from them" -Anonymous

I wonder, at what age can I introduce this concept?

Last Wednesday, my sister and I had to make a trip to her second home, Home Depot. So, I carelessly tell all my boys and my nephew that if they are on their best behavior that I will treat them to ice cream.

While my sister is in the store I check my wallet and realize that I have no money. "Oh well", I think to myself, "there is no way in hell that these little rascals will sit still."

Of course, my sister is out of the store in record time and as she departed from the store, I notice the four boys are sitting in my car still as statues and quiet as mice.

"So do we get ice cream now?" asked the Tank.

My voice actually started to crack as I sorrily told all my troopers, "I don't have any money." But, I quickly assured them that I am positive that we have two different kinds of ice cream in our freezer at home.

"That's ok Mommy," the General said.

Oh! How sweet my heart started to melt.

"Auntie Katie can pay!" the General finished.

Astonished at how fast my heart started to harden, "We don't ask other people to pay for things. That isn't polite."

Missing the point, the General replied, "Fine Mommy, Aunt Katie can hand you the dollars so you can pay if you want."

I told the General that it is not polite to ask people for money to buy you things.

Laughing to the point of tears, my sister decided to chime in, "that's ok buddy. I would gladly give you money for ice cream, but I don't have any either."

My children always seem to be just as quick with their come backs as they are with spending my money. Without wasting a moment, the Tank, frustrated by our exchange suggested, "Let's just drive to Papas house. He ALWAYS has money!"

There comes a time in every little boys's life....

for him to step up and take responsibility for wiping his own tushy!

And that time for the Tank has arrived.

"Mom, you come in here?"

"Where is here?" I dare asked.

"I'm in the bathroom and I need you to wipe my butt."

I shouted back from my spot in the kitchen, "No, you need to do it yourself."

"Please!" The pleading began. "Please!" "Please!"

I walked over to the bathroom and explained to the Tank that he is a big boy and he needs to start wiping his own tushy. "You are starting big boy preschool next week. You're a big guy now. You can do it."

The tank responded without missing a beat, "I'm not going to big boy school, it's little boy school. So they can wipe my butt."

"Nope. Your teacher definitely will not be wiping your tushy."

In a nervous voice the Tank asked, "Will she watch me wipe my tushy?"

"Nope."

"Will she check my tushy to make sure all the poopies are gone?"

"Nope."

"Why? Who's going to make sure all my poopies are gone?"

I can't believe I am trying to reason with a three year old about wiping his own hiney.

And here was the only reason I could come up with, "Because your teacher wants nothing to do with you tushy."

Sound reasoning on my part, so I believed. But definitely not good enough for the Tank, whose ONLY fear about starting school is who is going to wipe his tushy for him.

The Family Pet

I believe that around the age of two every child finds their place within their family. For example, my eldest, whom I refer to has the General, is a natural leader. He is as potent in mind as he is fierce on his feet. The General likes to keep his younger brothers in line, spouting off commands at whim, "You better stop your fussing, because I don't let little guys that cry sleep in my bunkbed!"

My middle child, whom I refer to as the Tank, is the coadjuter of the family. He is always waiting in the wings, ready to be called to duty, whether it is to help is brother fight off evil forces or to assist me in the kitchen. The Tank always wants to be in on the action.

Then there is my youngest. The Destroyer. I believe the name should say it all. Recently he turned two, and the Destroyer has come to find his place in our house as the family pet. Like a puppy, he is loving, loyal and very social. He also, like most puppies, he is yet to be house trained, is prone to wandering off, sloppy wet kisses, biting, barking for attention, and devouring unattended food to the point of explosion.

Attack of the Big Tomato

Yesterday, the General came running in my room, practically hyperventilating, "Mommy, quick! We need to hop in the car and drive over to Auntie's house and pick up my cousin, before the big tomato comes!"

"Slow down! The what is coming?" I asked.

"The BIG Tomato," cried the General. "It's coming and we have to get my cousin before it blows his house away!"

Laughing I asked the General, "Do you mean a tornado?"

"Yea, the big torMado is coming," replied the General. "Like the one that took Dorthy to OZ."

I looked outside and the sky did look pretty ominous.


Later that night...

I was sharing the General's humorous theory about the "big tomato", with my husband.

My husband laughed and wondered if that was how The Attack of the Killer Tomatoes was created. Some guy was sitting around with his son one day having a conversation and the kid started telling his father about a big tomato that attacked homes destroying everything in its way.

Yes, I agreed. Except I think somehow the son's idea was lost in translation.