I cannot stop with the goats. Goats, goats, everywhere. My hair is like a flock of goats, and my children, they are like a herd of goats. I was surveying the state of my house this evening and didn’t feel even a little guilty about accusing them of being a herd of goats. Actually, that may be slightly insulting to goats.
I’m pretty sure that goats eat EVERYTHING, so if they were TRULY goats, instead of eight empty cups and two pop-tart wrappers and assorted popsicle sticks being strewn across my family room, they would just eat it all and leave the area tidy. That might be good. (But then they’d probably also poop on the floor, and thank goodness we’re past that stage.)
Because do you KNOW what this week is? That’s RIGHT! It’s SPRING BREAK WEEK! Because it was such hard work having almost no school LAST week on account of all the flooding! So we are enjoying much more family togetherness than I think I can handle.
Oh, I shouldn’t say that. I love having my kids home. I do. As long as there isn’t anything else I need to be doing. And that happens… um, never. Having them home when I still have to work can be a little challenging. I try not to give in to the temptation to let them sit in front of the TV or on the computer all day, but it’s so much more effort to grab a broom and chase them outside….
(The irony of telling them that sitting in front of a computer all day isn’t good for them is not lost on me. But at least I get up and stretch periodically. The kids, they get on Webkinz and it’s like they’re smoking crack in there. It’s the longest I’ve ever seen Monkey sit still.)
While I tried to complete a day’s work today, one or both children did the following:
* Trashed the family room.
* Trashed the playroom.
* Refused to eat breakfast.
* Complained of starvation and needed lunch THIS MINUTE and were not amused when I pointed out that eating breakfast could’ve prevented that.
* Limped around complaining of injury.
* Begged for Tylenol.
* Ran down the driveway, miraculously healed.
* Asked to stay in pajamas all day.
* Asked to get dressed.
* Complained about getting dressed.
* Wanted to go outside.
* Complained it was too hot outside.
* Begged to come inside.
* Got into a fight in the driveway.
* Came inside to tattle.
* Came inside to refute the tattler.
* Came inside to ask for the walkie-talkies.
* Came inside looking for the sibling who’d claimed to be inside.
* Came inside still unable to find said sibling.
* Came inside to ask me if I could hear sibling on the walkie-talkie.
* Came inside to ask me why I’m yelling STOP COMING INSIDE!
* Begged to stay out when I said it was time for lunch.
* Left muddy footprints all over the house and claimed to not know their feet were so dirty.
* Washed feet and hands in the sink and somehow managed to get mud all over the bathroom.
* Complained about lunch.
* Ate up all the lunch and complained that there wasn’t any more.
* Complained about running errands.
* Did a half-naked dance in the little changing stall at the dry cleaner’s while the adorable little seamstress promised me in broken English that yes, she can fix my dress and my boobs won’t fall out, but Monkey’s suit jacket will just have to be a little big because it would be too hard to make slimmer.
* Wondered loudly in front of the other dry cleaning patrons why I need to have boobs sewn inside my wedding dress.
* Took turns reading to each other in the car.
* Tried to hit each other with the book in the car.
* Complained it was taking too long to get there.
* Complained they wanted to stay in the car.
* Asked what was for dinner.
* Protested that they HATE that for dinner.
* Finagled a deal whereby if they showered QUICKLY they could have blue box for dinner.
* Bickered over the bathroom.
* Left a trail of sodden towels and dirty clothes in their wake.
* Begged to stay up late.
Needless to say, I got SO MUCH WORK done today. Truly, I did. It’s just that I did it all in 30-second increments, and now I have a small facial tic. And do not even remind me that it’s only Monday, because I still have several popsicle sticks with which I could probably stab you in the eyeball if nothing else.