I crack myself up

I do. All the time. Just ask The Barbarian.

But having kids adds a whole new dimension to it. Because when you are at home all day with your kids, the possibilities for ridiculousness are constant. Why? Because kids are RIDICULOUS. Add in a less than normal mama (vastly less than normal?), and seriously. Ridiculousness abounds.

Like yesterday, for example (you knew there'd be an example, right?). We had a loooooooong night previous for most likely teething-related reasons, and we were all a bit tired and fussy yesterday. Luckily, Grandma and Grandpa Walrus were here in the morning to keep them entertained while I cleaned the kitchen (cooking=dishes...am I the only one who sees something unfair in this scenario?) and started in on the junk room our bedroom, my current project (don't even ask). They ended up taking an extremely decent nap after that (near three hours, The Goblin Queen thankfully going down again for an additional hour after waking up partway through), but the remainder of the afternoon and early evening before The Barbarian got home (after being stuck in horrendous traffic) was very hit or miss. I was trying to get a shepherd's pie in the oven for dinner--an AMAZING shepherd's pie by Alton Brown, introduced to us by a friend who delivered meals to us while both of us were on bedrest during our pregnancy because WE HAVE AWESOME FRIENDS--and it was definitely a performance in several acts.

I tried distracting them with all manner of fun activities (okay, maybe only two) using one of their current favourite items, pompoms. I got down two egg cartons from the stash we keep on top of the fridge (with the intention of giving them to my mom in order for her to more easily gift out her chickens' eggs to the family, of course, but in reality, we stash them there for months and quite possibly years on end until people begin asking about the dust-covered collection and we're forced to just recycle the lot out of embarrassment) and poured some pompoms in a bowl and showed them how nicely they fit in the little egg cups. They thought this was pretty neat, putting them in and taking them out, and trying to close the egg cartons, and even turning the cartons upside down and squishing them in the spaces between the bottoms of the egg cups. But seriously, it lasted a grand total of four and a half minutes before they were clamoring for me again. Dude. Toddlers.

So I ripped the last two paper towels off the roll in the kitchen and scrounged in the bathroom trash for empty toilet paper rolls (yes, my children play with bathroom trash--it strengthens the immune system) so I could then spend five minutes searching for the painter's tape in order to tape said empty cardboard tubes onto the wall at various heights in order for The Goblin Queen and King Toad Agooga to make pompoms slide down the tubes of their own accord after being shown how this amazingness worked by their oh-so-dedicated mama. Of course, that's not what happened at all after my enthusiastic demonstration. They immediately ripped the tubes off the wall, KTA marching about shouting through one, and TGQ wandering over to one of their current empty cardboard boxes ("baby traps," as The Barbarian calls them) and deciding it was vastly more entertaining to throw the pompom still clutched in her hand into the box with an ecstatic exclamation in gibberish. But really, can you blame her? 

I hurriedly escaped back to the kitchen but was found moments later by an extremely needy TGQ. I was determined to push through as much as I could, though, and so we began our "kitchen dance," her alternating sitting on my feet, crawling through my legs, and grabbing my pants in iron fists while digging in her heels--all of which combine to make it near impossible to get to and from the island, the sink, and the stove. This dance is performed to the popular tune of "Fussy, Demanding, Pathetic Toddler." It's a classic. And this version of the dance is actually only the beginner/intermediate level. Why? BECAUSE THERE WAS ONLY ONE TINY HUMAN PERFORMIMG THE PART OF THE TINY HUMAN. We sell tickets to the full show. It's intense. 

Anyway, after fucking up the recipe slightly due to, ahem, being distracted, and totally getting outwardly frustrated at said source of distraction because of it (SIGH), I got to a point where I could pick her up for the remaining fine minutes of simmering and stirring until I was at a stopping point and we could go nurse. However, she then proceeded to do that most endearing of small child activities wherein she demanded to be picked up, then flung and wriggled her little body as if to say she wanted down, then immediately lost her shit upon being put down, only to be picked back up so she could begin the routine again. WHY DO THEY DO THAT? I eventually got outwardly frustrated with her again, even louder and more forceful than previously (BIGGER SIGH). 

So by the time we made it out of the kitchen and met up with KTA on the couch to nurse, I was, how you say, OVER IT. But they snuggled in close, one on each side, and happily and with great relief on the part of TGQ, nursed. And the vast majority of my feelings of frustration evaporated. Nursing's pretty awesome like that. 

And when I'm not feeling like I want to attach my children to a wall with huge strips of velcro to ensure their safety while I abandon them for the fresh air and emptiness of the patio with a tasty adult beverage, I'm more apt to crack myself up. So when TGQ stopped nursing and pulled my shirt down over the nipple, looking up at me and waiting with that gleam in her eye and little smile on her face for the perfect moment to reveal said nipple to the familiar exclamation, upon the final reveal, I yelled, "PEEKABOOBIE!" and sat on the couch laughing hysterically at myself under the gaze of two highly unimpressed toddlers. 

The end.