Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Dog House Goat

My children are in the dog house. Not literally, because even Missouri probably has some kind of law about that sort of thing, though there would be plenty of room for them, because the dogs prefer the giant holes they've dug halfway to China under the 5th-wheel camper in the front yard to the dog houses, or even the shallow dust pit in the middle of their path on the way to the barn, the dust pit so popular that I've witnessed a dog fighting a cat for braggin' rights to said dust pit, and when you go to pet these critters, the dust flies off of them like dust out of an old couch being whacked by a toddler with a plastic pirate sword, which doesn't really have anything to do with my kids being in trouble, but sometimes my mind wonders when I sit down to post without a subject in mind.

My boys are like twin PigPens from the Peanuts comic strip. You know, PigPen, the friend of Charlie Brown and Linus and Lucy and Sally and Snoopy and Woodstock and Peppermint Patty and Franklin. PigPen, who always had that cloud of dust around him. My boys don't even get dressed until about noon. And by 1:00, they have soiled their clothing. AND THEY DENY IT!!!

"No. I didn't get anything on it. That was on there when I put it on. I don't care. It must have been on there when you took it off the hanger. I didn't do it. I don't care if it looks like Pepsi slush that I just bought in 7-11. It's not. Feel it. It's dry. So it's not Pepsi slush. Well, I don't know what it is. It was already on there. So stop blaming me."

Which is not a very far cry from yesterday, and the saga of the Sonic Bacon Cheeseburger Toaster Sandwich.

"Don't get that on you. Wrap it back in the foil to eat it."
"I'm just taking off the lettuce and onion."
"Wrap it back up."
"I will."
"You're not."
"Look. I can't take off this lettuce. It's in little pieces."
"Don't get it on you."
"Next time, order it without tomato and lettuce."
"Fine. Wrap it up."
"I am."
"Lean over. You're going to get it on you."
"No, I'm not."
The boy started digging at something in the crotch area on the leather seat.
"What's that?"
"It's nothing."
"You got it on your shorts, didn't you?"
"No."
"What is that?"
"I bit into it, and the tomato squirted out."
"So you got it on your shorts."
"Yeeessss."
"You are PigPen."
"I couldn't help it."
"I knew you were going to do that."
"It's not my fault."
"You could have waited until we got home."
"That takes too long."
"Next week, you are learning to do your own laundry."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes. You are."

The #2 son is a butter freak. Not real butter. Save-A-Lot I Can't Believe It's Not Butter margarine. He had bread and butter with his lunch. Somehow, it got all over his shirt. These boys of mine don't deserve clothes. They can run around in nothing, and I'll hose them down after every meal. Something in the back of my mind tells me that there's some law against that, too. #2 wouldn't mind. But #1 wouldn't stand for it. He won't even pee outside. He never has, even as a tiny tot, when we were trying to potty train him. Or 'outdoor' train him. I'm sure HH is his father. I can't explain the modesty or the blue eyes, though.

Boys will be boys. Might as well say 'terrorists will be terrorists'. From morning to night, they are scheming ways to get my goat. Only I don't have a goat. They got it long ago. The big one decided to measure the size of his foot against the size of the small one's head this morning. He stuck his foot right up on the boy's cheek.

"It IS bigger than your head!"
"Hey, it's sweaty. Get your foot offa me!"
"Let's try your foot compared to my head."
"OK!"
#1 lies down IN the floor. #2 puts his foot on #1's face
"NO! You'll grab his foot and flip him."
"Hey! Is that what you're gonna do?"
"No. Not now."
#2 jumps into the chair vacated by #1
"Hey! Get outta my chair!"
"Uh uh."
#1 grabs #2's feet and drags him to the floor. Thump!(butt) Thump!(head)
"Ha ha! I got it back!"
"That's not fair! You got up!"
#2 tries to get out of the living room.
#1 blocks the way with his freakishly large feet hung over the side of the chair.
"You guys need to settle down. You're driving me crazy."
#2 climbs over the back of the couch and sneaks up behind #1's chair.
"Hey! How did YOU get out?"
"Heh, heh. Now you're gonna get it!"
Nerf darts start to fly.
"MOM! He's shooting me!"
"No I'm not. I just threw the dart at you. I don't even have my gun."
"I'm going to tell the kids at school that you pick your nose."
"No I don't."
"Yes you do. They know already. They saw you at the Christmas Program."
"That was a long time ago."
"They remember."
"I'm going to tell them that you used to pee in your own face."
"I'm going to tell them that you still drink out of a sippy cup."
"No I don't."
"Then what's that under the table by the couch?"
"That's from a long time ago."
"No it's not."
"Yes it is."
"No it's not."

So much for my ER-watching this morning. And the second show even had a chimp and a robot. I don't get no respect. It's going to be a loooong summer.

3 comments:

Stewed Hamm said...

You know what there oughtta be a law against? Shows without monkeys and robots - that's what!

Redneck. Diva. said...

Okay, for years now I've been contending that HH and my Paul are the same person. Now...I'm thinking you and I are the same person.

Yesterday, even though I kept hollering "STOPIT!STOPIT!STOPIT!" repeatedly, they used me as the object to run around and around, back and forth, chasing each other. After I grabbed them both by the hair and they both dangled there with fists a'swingin', I heard something about someone being a dork and someone's room and someone else's GameBoy. I didn't pay much attention because my blood pressure was so high at that point, I couldn't hear too well anyway.

Hillbilly Mom said...

StewedHammisthirteenyearsoldtoday,
Yes, I heartily agree.

Diva,
Oooh! I hate it when they run circles around me! That's when I start taking away allowances and send them to their rooms, and they bond across the hall to hate me together.