I'm not sure I want to meet the new neighbors...

 I am positive that's what everyone on the block is thinking after this evening.

The evening started to degenerate when Shorty woke up crabby. This usually means he's still tired & should sleep another hour. There was no convincing him of this today, though. He had pooped. The nap was done.

A cranky Shorty makes for a high-maintenance evening. He wants his brothers' toys. Not that he wants what is officially "theirs" over "his"; he just wants whatever happens to be in their hands at any particular moment.

And he's not good at using words yet.

So, he screams.

If I tell him to use words, he screams "MOMMYYY!" Not sure that's better.

The twins were in rare form tonight, too. Maybe because Daddy is out of town on business (it's very convenient to blame him). Thing 2 had his Bossy Pants on and Thing 1 was going by the alias Whiney McWhinerson.

Needless to say, they did not take kindly to toys being taken from them. Screaming. Arguing. Whining. Even (dare I say it) hitting *gasp, not my children* ALL. NIGHT. LONG.

It all came to a head when, after dinner, a strawberry somehow migrated from the kitchen table to the playroom floor where at least 1 -- possibly 3 -- sets of feet decided to grind it into the carpet. We moved the party to the family room so I could clean...

And the screaming fits started. Three of them. All at the same time.

"That's it. Bedtime." I announced, knowing that they were tired & an early bedtime would be beneficial.

Cue more screaming.

Shorty was somewhat agreeable to being changed and put down. Thing 1 screamed for a while & then, decided to try his hand at listening. He became very sweet, asked for my help getting changed. And when I praised his listening...he requested M&Ms as a reward. Sly.

Thing 2. Oh, he's a stubborn one. Always has been. This is the child who defied everything all the infant books said about "self soothing." It didn't matter how long I let him cry. It didn't matter how many days in a row I "enforced" this "soothing"...he was not to be soothed. I would find him red in the face, little fists clenched, screaming in between gasping breaths. So much for "soothing."

Anyway. He did NOT want to go to bed. He screamed. He cried. He fought me as he made me change him like a baby into his overnight PullUp. He then decided that the best way not to go to bed was to strip down.

So. He was naked on his bed. Screaming:

I DON'T WANT TO BE NAKED. I WANT MY PANTS AND UNDERPANTS. I DON'T WANT TO BE NAKED, MOMMY.

I really hope he can't be heard from the street.

Not-So-Fresh Prince

cue the music...

Now this is a story all about how
My house got flooded from the upstairs down
And I'd like to take a minute just sit right there
I'll tell you how I became the queen in a house with damp air

In central Arizona wild and crazed
Chasing munchkins is how I spend most of my days
Playing games, craftin', keepin' my cool
And dreaming of the days when they'll all be in school
When a short little guy who was up to no good
Started making trouble in my neighborhood
He had a diaper blowout and mom just stared
And said, "You're getting in the bathtub that is upstairs"

I gave him a bath and cleaned up his rear
Then I turned on the faucet to clean up the smears
His brothers started screaming; I wish that this were rare
So of course I forgot it. I left the water on upstairs.

I took L up for a nap 'cause it was getting later
And I yelled; I was crabby, wading through the water
I looked at my kingdom I was finally there
To sit on my throne as the Queen of Damp Air

It can't come soon enough

Counting down the days until a little of this

A little of this

And some of this

And who knows, maybe even a bit of this

yee-haw!

As we were driving back from somewhere (it's hard to tell where -- most likely there was a Dunkin' Donuts stop along the way, though), we passed one of the area's larger churches. At the intersection where they have their sign, there is an enormous cross. It is kind of tipped over on its side like this:


...but clearly not actually this cross.

Anyway, I digress.

One of the twins piped up from the back seat:

"Look, Mommy! A cross!
It falled over.
Jesus must ride on that cross a lot!"

I had never pictured Jesus as a cowboy in the Wild West before. But I will confess, that is the image that popped into my head.

We laughed. A lot.

And then we corrected his theology.

No, Jesus did NOT ride on the cross for our sins; He died on the cross for our sins.

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. -John 3:16

The Devil You Don't

There are plenty of creepy crawly things in the world, and, truth be told, a lot of them really freak me out. I am a completely independent, self-sufficient, 21st-century woman.

Except when it comes to bugs.

In the case of those, I really prefer to have a man take care of squashing it for me.

Here in lovely Arizona, I have come to be acquainted with a new variety of creeper. The scorpion.

He is not my friend. Truly.

When I was unpacking boxes here at our new house and generally getting things ready for us to move in, I happened to find one of these beasties hanging out in the master bathroom trash can. He was clearly alive. And -- praise be to the Almighty Lord who knew I would have dropped dead on the spot if I had found this little guy scampering playfully around the house -- he was trapped inside that trash can.

I promptly shut the door to the bathroom and refused to use it until the man of the house could take care of the problem for me.

Did you know scorpions can live for MONTHS without food and water?

We weren't going to starve this baby out.

And as brave and strong as my knight in shining armor is, he wasn't too keen on dumping the scorpion out and chasing him around the house. So he formulated a new plan.

Did you know that it takes a scorpion upwards of 30 minutes to die when covered in clinging lime-a-way?

He fought that lime-a-way with his stinger, with his pinchers, and with every ounce of strength he had in him. But -- be it from the corrosive chemicals eating away at him, or just plain drowning I can't say -- that scorpion finally gave up the ghost.

We are now taking precautions against further scorpion "attacks." Let me fill you in.

Did you know that scorpions fluoresce in blacklights?

Blacklights can be handy in keeping an eye out for these critters when it's dark outside. We wouldn't want to accidentally step on one. Rumor has it that folks who grow up in scorpion territory turn on the blacklights in the back yard and take the whole family outside for a good old-fashioned scorpion stomping contest.

Not sure whose idea of fun that is, but I don't think we are going to be doing anything like that any time soon.

We are also wearing shoes in the house.

Remember that my husband is very clean and very particular and has spent the last 3.5 years training our children that you take off your shoes in the house. Shoes are dirty. We want the floors clean.

But we also don't want to step on scorpions in our bare feet.

So off to the store we went to purchase special "house shoes" that the kids are only allowed to wear inside. For 2 reasons. 1) to keep the floors clean; 2) they are NOT stylish.
The boys LOVE them. Well, the tiny man loves to wear his brothers' shoes more than his own. This has caused many temper tantrums. But it seems that lately he only wants what belongs to someone else. In fact, earlier this week, he would not eat his own cereal. He only wanted what was in N's bowl. Anyway, this behavior is not limited to the shoes.

I spend an extraordinary amount of time checking places for scorpions. In the bathroom. In the kitchen. In shoes. In bed linens.

I dream about them.

The boys are convinced we need to be on the lookout for stingrays, too.

But if I am truly introspective, I know that the paranoia will wear off eventually and that these guys are no worse than other bugs with which I've spent my entire life.

This friendly brown recluse spider, for example:

He's nice and poisonous. And lives all over the Midwest. Don't get me wrong, I don't like spiders. But I think I can count on one hand the number of times I found it necessary to shake out a shoe before I stuck my foot in it.

The devil you know, right?