Home Improvement, Destructo Style

Warning: This post contains potty talk.


Methinks it's snowing again. At least this year we've had breaks between storms and it hasn't been like last year that felt like the transition stage of labor when the contractions are horrendous and before one finishes, another begins. Why am I describing it? You've all been there--at least those brave enough to skip the epidural. Which I was not every time, I am not ashamed to admit.

Anyway, I was talking snow, and totally digressed and am hoping that Mr Destructo is going in the potty and not in his pants. Why is potty-training such a pain in the nethers?

So, you'd think that while I'm stuck in the house, I'd take advantage of the entire lack of yard work and do something inside the hovel. Like finish painting. So far, out of the entire house, one room had 2 and 1/18 walls painted. That 1/18 looks fab, let me tell you.

( Ooh--heard a flush, that augers well, right?)...(Woo-hoo one less stinky to change for me! Now can someone explain to me why the underwear has to put on backwards? The front looks like saggy Granny undies while the back looks like a too-small Speedo complete with cheek peeks. Too much information? I did warn you.)

So, the other day, feeling ambitious, I started washing another wall to paint and accidentally put a lot more water in the bucket than I needed. After a while the kids decided they needed to help me. To boost their self-confidence, I let them. It wasn't long before they were holding their rags in the bucket watching TV. (Oh-and the bucket was sitting on a little table we have in front of the TV so I didn't have to bend over as far to rinse my rags--I do believe I have mentioned before my extremes of laziness.)

So, thinking the kids might eventually finish the washing, I started the never-endingness-of-fun spackling. At which point, the chair Mr Destructo was standing on fell over of it's own volition (of course), taking Mr Destructo with it, and since he was up to his armpits in the bucket, taking that and it's 3 gallons (I'm estimating) of dirty, soapy, wood chipped water with them.

Needless to say, any self-confidence boosted in my kids got smashed right there. Some french bombs may have gone off. A putty knife may have been thrown that may have dinged the supposed-to-be-indestructable wood laminate floor. The carpet may still be wet today. I'm surprised it doesn't stink yet.

And now we all know why I don't bother doing much improvement around this house because it's destructoed before it's even bettered. At least it's water and not--you know--the stuff that might be all over the Thomas the Tank Engine Speedo and my new already stained couch in ten minutes.

By the way, I put a once a month limit on washing the couch slipcovers or it would be every other day, I tell you. Like slipcover labor. Because you were dying to know.

Full of It

Lexie learned how to fake burp from our neighbor's 8- and 6-year-old grandsons. So girly and charming.

Tonight at dinner she was doing a series of these and when I told her to stop, continued with a follow-up belch. Of course, I got mad her for still burping after I told her to stop, and she said to me, in a saucy voice, with an outraged look (imagine this with the 'r's coming out as 'w's),

"Mom, when you need to burp, you burp!"

Can't argue with that.

Nothing Like the Smell of Fresh Vomit in the Morning

Well, if you didn't guess from the title, we have been S. I. C. K. Like, with eruptions out both ends kind of sick, not to give too much information. It got us out of going to church, much to Dan's chagrin.

I really wish I had a wipeable leather/vinyl/whatever-it-is couch, since Mr Destructo puked all over mine again. And guess who cleaned it up, even though they themselves had an episode at 4 in the AM? Yeah. It was I. Not my husband, who hasn't been affected at all and has had the nerve to continually pester me about having another baby really soon, when I am so not in the mood. Hello?! Being nauseated all day does not make me eager for tortuous morning sickness. D. U. H.

I think he's being fueled by Lexie's late and frequent talk about the sister she's getting. Like it's a done deal. I only hope we have another girl and not another wild, refried-beans-smelling boy, but sorry Sistah.

Have I mentioned what a good baby Sawyer is? His throw-up episode was a couple of days ago and he was smiling when I got him out of bed, with dried vomit everywhere. Yeah. You heard me. Dried. I think he woke up in the night, threw up, and went back to sleep. Have I also brought up how laid-back he is? Forgive my pun.

So, since all my babies have been good, each one better than the last, my mom says I'm due for a terrible, horrible, no-good baby. SO. Unless my husband is willing to be the stay-at-home one (and he's often told me he's more than willing) and live off of a Dairy Queen (where I've had the most experience-yeah sad, I know--and even more sad use of my college degree) burger-flipper-and-Blizzard-maker salary when bread is $3/loaf and gas is $4.30/gallon, he better find someone else to pester right now.

Don't mess with me.

I'm having an episode.

Disclaimer: No husbands were harmed (barely) in the creating of this post or the cleaning of the vomit--he actually helped by holding the cushions while I scrubbed them. He really is a good husband, just not always a wise one.