What did you want?


May 16, 2011

Tornado E asked for a gun.

What the hell?


We were driving home from my parents’ house, and Tornado E was investigating Tornado S’s new squirt gun from The Friendly Giant, aka the favorite uncle, for Tornado S’s birthday.

Tornado E: Mommy, I think you can give me a gun.

Me: Um, ok.

Tornado E: I want a gun.  A real one.  Because they’re easy to use.  You just put in the bullets and pull the trigger.  Can you get me one for my birthday?

What are they teaching you in that school?  First you want a cell phone, and now you want a gun.

 Um, hell no.


Weapons of minor destruction

I bought flails for the boys yesterday.  Do you know what a flail is? It’s a weapon that has a ball with spikes attached to a handle by a chain.  It is sometimes mistakenly called a mace or a morning star.  Obviously our flails are soft like Nerf.  The question that begs to be asked is: Why would I buy my children more weapons?

Because we already own:

5 nerf-like swords

4 hard plastic swords

2 staffs that switch to spears

1 battle-ax

1 wooden sword

1 wooden dagger

4 adult-size plastic daggers

4 shields

3 inflatable swords

4 extendable light sabers

1 light-up light saber

3 soft throwing stars

Obviously I’m teaching my sons to defend a small castle.  Now it’s off to dig a moat and buy a few crossbows.

For the blog

Tornado E: . . . And grandma is older than you because she’s taller than you.  And grandma is older than grandma-great because grandma is taller than grandma-great.

Ok, first off, I am taller than grandma.  It was my only goal in puberty, get taller than my mother.  That and go to college.  And by the time a kid is twelve, s/he is taller than grandma-great, so that is not saying much.

Tornado E: Isn’t that funny, Mommy?  I think you should put it in your blog.

I’m not sure if I should feel proud that he knows of the blog and wants his stories in it or worried because he knows of the blog and knows I put stories in it.  Maybe both.


It’s hard to teach sharing and being nice to people.  I sometimes wonder if as humans, we are naturally selfish, egotistical beings and that it is against our very natures to think beyond ourselves.  I struggle to teach the boys to get along, to share their toys with each other, or, at the very least, stop f-ing antagonizing each other.  Jesus.  Is it so hard to just not make your brother scream in aggravation because you said something or took away the toy or hit him?  Leave him alone!


So imagine my surprise when ever was upset that Tornado S had an eyeball balloon and he didn’t.  While Tornado E was at school, we were at the grocery store, where they were giving away their Halloween balloons.  When a store clerk asked Tornado S if he wanted one, he asked for the eye-ball balloon with a please.  All day, Tornado S was talking to his Eye-Ball Friend.  Naturally, Tornado E had to destroy this special bond.

After the third time of Tornado E taking the balloon and the second time of him putting the ribbon in his mouth to irritate Tornado S, I sent Tornado E to time out.  After the five minutes, we had a nice little discussion over when something belongs to someone else, we leave it alone.  We play with other people’s things when we ask and they say yes.

Tornado E: But I like the eye-ball balloon!

Me: I know.  But it’s Tornado S’s.

Tornado E: But Mommmmmmyyyyyyy!

Me: It’s still Tornado S’s.  Play with the other balloon.

Tornado S: Here, brother!  You want to play with it?!  You can!

And then I realize my boy is the sweetest, kindest, most adorable boy on the planet.  And maybe I had a hand in it.

Notes on Halloween

1. When am I going to learn that I’m not superwoman and I can’t control time to slow down?

2. Sugar cookies take a lot longer when they’re really, really sticky.

3.  Really, really sticky dough makes me roll thick cookies and hand out dough so I won’t have to cut so many damn cookies.

4. Tornado A felt neglected because I didn’t hold him 85% of the day.

5.  It was too warm for Tornado A to wear one of his hand-me-down costumes.  Until we were trick-or-treating, and then it was freakin’ cold.  Stupid desert.

6.  Why do my sons change their minds of what they want to be just as I’m trying to dress them in their costumes?

7. If I knew Tornado S was going to go from a skeleton/vampire/pumpkin to just a vampire, I wouldn’t have freaked out Saturday when I found the skeleton costume was WAY TOO BIG and not braved Wal-mart and saved twenty bucks on sweats, lining paper, and other odds and ends.

8.  He did look like an adorable vampire with out fangs because he said he already had them.

9. Kid Halloween parties are a blast  Mainly because I don’t have to clean up.

10.  Trick-or-treating with friends is a blast because I have someone to talk to.

11.  Tornado S loved just walking around admiring the lights.

12. Tornado E had to compliment every house for something.  “I like your pumpkins.”  “I like your skeleton; he’s creepy.”  “I like the smell of your candle.”  “I like your roof because it’s high.”

13.  Glow bracelets are awesome.

14. I get a kick out of explaining Halloween traditions to people.

15. I’ve got to stop half-assing my favorite holiday.  Next year we’ll do more crafts, and I’ll actually post them.  I’ll make a kick-ass dinner.  (Though I made ghost pancakes for breakfast and octopus hot dogs for lunch)  I will get around to carving the pumpkin.  And I’ll make kick-ass costumes for all.  I will.  I promise you.

Decisions, decisions

Halloween is creeping up, and my boys are being seduced by to many choices.

Tornado E’s choices:

A zombie.

A viking.

A warrior.

A knight.

Dr. Facilier.

A skeleton.

A pumpkin.

Tornado S’s choices:

Dr. Facilier.

A zombie.

Dr. Zombot.

A skeleton.

A vampire AND a skeleton.

A vampire AND a skeleton AND a pumpkin.

Yes, Mom, it WOULD be easier to just pick out costumes for them.  But would be the fun of that?

Check please

Tornado E had his first field trip this year.  The kindergartners went to the sheriff department station, a grocery store, and a pizza joint, where each child got to make his or her own pizza to eat.

Since Tornado A is still attached at the breast, I had to sit this one out.  I know, bummer.  So one of the mom’s related this story to me.

She was supervising the kids in washing their hands, thinking Wow, what a cute place; I should bring the family here.

Tornado E: Hey!  Look at that bug!


I’m a first born.  Rules and authority are very important to me.  Being on time is Very Important to me.  So I freak out at any sight of lateness.  I get antsy and yell-y.  I guess I get close to becoming a rabid dog.  I’m even worse when it’s my fault.

So when I was working on some paperwork for Tornado E’s school (because, Of Course, I can get it done before school instead of doing it the night before) and I noticed I was already three minutes late, I got panicky.

Then I noticed Tornado E didn’t have shoes OR socks on.

While I was trying to get Tornado E to put on his socks, I grabbed Tornado S to sit on my lap to put on his sandals.  I noticed he was wet.

As in wet!  As in he PEED HIS PANTS!

Are you KIDDING!

So then I got yell-y.  As I tried to get Tornado S to strip.  And The Husband stepped in and sent Tornado E, Tornado A, and I on our way.

But Tornado E’s lunch box needed a juice box and an ice pack.  my cell phone was on the other side of the room, NOT in my purse.  And where was that damn pizza form?!


I think I’m heading for an early heart attack.

After herding Tornado E into the car with strong, loud language, I realized The Husband had borrowed my car last night, so the keys were in the house, not clipped on my shorts.  I grabbed them and my purse and the form and jumped in the car and pulled out.

I was a street away when:

Tornado E: Mommy, where’s mt lunch box?

I looked in the back.  No lunch box!  I swore I grabbed it when I grabbed my purse.  I drove back.  There it was on the floor on the garage.

Me: I swear I put it on the hood with my purse when I put you guys in.

Tornado E: I moved it.


We were off again.  Only now there was a car diagonal in front of the gate, trying to get it open.  Idiot.  Finally, the idiot moved, so I could trigger the gate.  And of course, we missed the light.

And I resigned myself that we would be late.  On the second day of school.


For weeks I’ve been on the verge of tears or having an anxiety attack or both because My Baby is going to Kindergarten.  MY BABY IS GOING TO KINDERGARTEN!

Tornado E: Mommy, I’m not a baby!  I’m a big boy!

Me: Shhh!  Mommy’s freaking out right now.  Please don’t interrupt.

I didn’t have to go shopping because his backpack from last year was hardly touched and someone bought him a really cool pirate lunchbox.  Sure, I had to buy containers, and I’ve been scouring the web for excellent lunch ideas.  (Any one have any?)

I didn’t have tons of questions at the kindergarten orientation.  Tornado E has talked of nothing else since last week.

I borrowed from the Supernanny and made a morning chart with Velcro so that I didn’t have to use stickers and forgetting to put said stickers on the chart.  Of course, I couldn’t lay out a plan of which should be done first because that just seemed to anal.  I let them put Velcro pirate coins under each chore.

So we were up at our regular 6am.  I fed Tornado A as the boys watched cartoons.  They ate as I did as I emptied the dishwasher.  Tornado E and Tornado S made their beds, got dressed, brushed their teeth, combed their teeth, and washed their faces with minimal prodding.  We even picked up toys.  I got to shower and dress; while, the boys watched more cartoons.  The Husband even got into the shower.

We arrived a little early for pictures and all the fanfare.

As I signed Tornado E in, I caught him walking into the classroom.

Me: Tornado E.  Go hug and kiss your daddy goodbye.

He turned around.  I finished signing Tornado E in, just to see him sneak into the classroom.

Me: Tornado E.  Come give me a kiss and a hug goodbye.

He dutifully came up to me and hugged and kissed me.  Then he ran off into the classroom without a look backwards.

My baby.

In kindergarten.

Tornado S: Mommy!  I want to go to school!  I want to go to preschool!

Sshh.  Mommy is freaking out.  Please be quiet.  And come home with me.