i hate everything: jazz flute edition

I hate everything.

I have decided that now is the time to crack down on having to say things 14 times before the children respond to me. So a conversation that used to look like this...

Me: Chicken? Milk or water with breakfast? Chicken? Milk or water? Chicken. Answer please. Drink. Milk or water. Chicken? I know that new truck is super cool but I really need to know what you want to drink with breakfast. Milk or water?

Chicken: Juice.

Me: Juice isn't an option. Do you want milk or water? Chicken? Chicken. Chicken? Ok, I'm going to pour milk for you. Good? Milk? Or water? Chicken?

... NOW looks like this:

Me: Chicken, do you want milk or water with breakfast?

(no response)

Me: Great! Thank you! BREAKFAST IS CANCELED. (I pull their plates off the table.)


It's going SUPER-DUPER WELL*!!!!!!

*It's going about as well as plastic surgery: excruciating, but once the swelling goes down I'm confident things will look a lot better.

Chicken has taken to screaming into my face, after I have pulled his plate, "but NOW I will answer you Mommy! That's a YES ON MILK Mommy!" But I'm sticking to my guns and denying the child milk.

Listen, when I type it out like that it sounds demented. But listen, I offer him milk like half an hour later, and a hearty snack that looks strikingly like a once-hot breakfast. And you know that when I ask him the second time he answers me right off the bat.

I have no choice but to go to the mattresses here. The boys are strong, I've got crazy eyes, and Ryan is in New York so I'm cracking the whip and the children have no good cop. It's a scary time for all of us.


The fruit flies are back.

Chicken's Poopocalypse has become Poopocalypse NOW with yours truly in the starring role of young Martin Sheen (in other news Emilio Estevez is a vampire because there is no other way that young Martin Sheen looks THAT much like his kid.)


the horror...
the horror...


Also, in the process of unloading clean sippy cups I guess I got a little juiced up and pulled the drawer front off the sippy cup drawer. So now the place where the children go for fresh milk in the morning is a splinter and nail farm.


I splurged at the toy store today and bought the children bath flutes.


Bath flutes.

seemed like a good idea at the time

I had a fantasy that they'd emit a velvety smooth tone, like liquid chocolate.

You know, jazz bath flutes.

I was wrong.

They are plastic screech tubes best used for repelling bears.

The boys love them.

May God have mercy on our souls.


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